


To Wake Up Again

by BonkyBornes



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Domestic, Fluff, M/M, Nighmares, PTSD, Service Animals, Sleepy Cuddles, Slow Burn, Stucky - Freeform, Therapy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-01-27 05:11:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 215,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21386641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BonkyBornes/pseuds/BonkyBornes
Summary: They go to therapy. Steve does art. Everyone is soft. Nat is a *considerable* asshole to everybody. Sam gets hit in the head with burritos. Angst at times. Slow burn but they're really fucking gay. Bucky owns like 100 plants.Or, what would happen if they were given the time to heal from everything life has thrown at them?I definitely fucked up the timeline, but at this point, I don't care.A/N: Please comment! I would love to know what you think!
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 93
Kudos: 142





	1. Chapter 1

It was still strange to wake up in a bed that had the familiarity of more than one night. In between missions had been just that: in between. There hadn’t been time to fully appreciate the comfort that a mattress could be. It was true even in the middle of the night when he stared at the ceiling unable to sleep. For the fifth night in a row, Steve slipped out from under the covers and sat on the edge of his bed, heels of his palms pressed against his eyes. 

Breathing heavily, he stood and walked from the room. The hardwood floor was cold against his bare feet. By the time he reached the kitchen, he wished he’d thought to don a pair of socks. Glass of water in hand, he leaned against the counter. The clock on the oven read _3:00 am_. Steve sighed. Every inch of him was exhausted. He couldn’t remember the last time he woke feeling rested. Couldn’t remember the last time he really slept, for that matter. 

Movement on the couch had him looking up to see that he wasn’t the only one awake. Bucky stared out the window into the backyard, his knees drawn up to his chest. He said nothing when Steve sat beside him, simply shifted slightly to make room. Their shoulders brushed, flesh against metal. Bucky flinched away before settling back, leaving the slightest gap between them. 

This had become a sort of tradition when sleep failed to claim both of them. They never spoke. It was comfort enough to not be alone. 

Moonlight filtered in through the tall windows. They were one of the reasons Steve was drawn to the house. The amount of natural light they brought was a refreshing change from what he had grown used to in his days under the radar. The fact that it was in Brooklyn was an unexpected perk. On the good days, it was easier to believe that things were normal. 

The light lined Bucky’s face in patches of shadow. Even they couldn’t disguise the dark bags that circled his eyes. All Steve wanted to do was draw him into a tight hug and murmur stories of their childhood to distract themselves from their lingering nightmares, but he couldn’t. Two months into living together again, Bucky had slowly begun to revert into himself. On a bad day, even the smallest touch sent him into a fit of shaking and cold detachment that lasted for hours. 

It wasn’t Steve’s fault—he knew that—but watching Bucky suffer because he had stopped searching felt like a comeuppance. If he had just gone back instead of nursing his guilt with the comfort of a bottle. If he hadn’t given up hope so easily. But then he wouldn’t be sitting beside him. They wouldn’t have the chance to breathe and recover and live the life they had always dreamed of as kids. 

Steve shouldn’t be grateful for the way they received their second chance, but there was a part of him, small as it was, that couldn’t help but be. It was messy and god help him if it wasn’t painful, but it had brought him Bucky. Right now, that was the only thing that mattered. 

The sun slowly rose. By the time dawn spilled into the living room, his eyes burned with tiredness. Instead of letting them close like he so desperately wanted to, Steve stood and grabbed his glass from the counter. He drained it in a gulp and re-filled it, this time drinking slowly. Bucky still hadn’t moved. Knowing it was going to be one of those days, Steve moved to grab another glass to ensure Bucky drank. He was damned if he wasn’t going to keep his friend hydrated.

A shoulder bumped into his. Bucky stood beside him. Steve wordlessly passed him the glass and watched him fill it. The tiny action provided Steve with a spark of hope. Maybe today wouldn’t be as bad as he first expected. 

The small acts of self-care had come gradually. Steve remembered the first night he’d returned from a run to find Bucky sitting in his room with a cup of tea and a book, his hair freshly washed. He’d looked so content and happy, normal even, that Steve had been afraid to burst the bubble. But then Bucky had looked up and seen him, and the small smile he produced had split Steve open. God, he’d wanted nothing more than to take Bucky in his arms and just lay there like when they had been kids. He’d even gone as far as to sit on the edge of the bed, but stopped himself before doing anything he could live to regret. 

“Hey, Buck,” he said. 

Bucky replied with a small quirk of his lips and sipped his water. Satisfied, Steve turned back towards the cabinets and reached for two bowls. A metal arm swooped in and knocked his out of the way. Eyebrow quirked, Steve went to grab the cereal, only to find his reach blocked again. Bucky looked at him, almost apologetically. 

“Sometimes forget you’re not still small,” he said as a way of explanation. 

“S’okay,” Steve replied. “Reckon I can still pour them, though.” 

He nodded to the orange box in Bucky’s hand and held out his own. Their fingers brushed momentarily as Bucky passed him the Mini-Wheats. As Steve poured a heaping helping in each bowl, Bucky turned to the fridge to grab the milk. 

“I’m never letting you touch the milk again,” Bucky said at Steve’s outstretched hand. “Not after you dropped it and ruined my shoes.” 

“That was eighty years ago!” Steve spluttered. 

“And they were new.” Bucky pushed Steve out of the way with his hip and poured the milk. 

It was all Steve could do to keep from rolling his eyes as he grabbed the two bowls and walked to the table. Bucky soon joined him with spoons. They ate in silence. Steve knew he should be glad that Bucky’s memories were returning, however slowly, without any prompting from him. He should be happy that they were able to banter again as if nothing had changed. But he couldn’t help but notice how Bucky’s eyes remained on his bowl and were shrouded with exhaustion. How his idle hand stayed clenched. The mottled green and yellow on his wrist where his metal fingers had gripped tight enough to bruise. How his foot tapped an erratic rhythm on the wooden floor. 

“Nightmares again?” he asked quietly.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” He made to move but Steve put a hand around his wrist. Feather soft. Bucky froze. 

“Buck, you don’t have to torture yourself like this. You can talk to someone, let them help.” 

“Yeah, because the last time I saw a therapist, I came out of it just fine and dandy.” Bucky’s voice had become apathetic. “Just because I have nightmares doesn’t mean I’m not fine.” 

“Bucky, you know that’s not what I meant.”

Bucky’s eyebrows raised. “I see the way you watch and step around me like I’m someone fragile about to break. I have blood on my hands, just like you, but I can deal with it.” 

He wrenched his wrist from Steve’s grip and walked away, leaving his bowl still half-full on the table. The door to the backyard slammed shut. 

Steve pressed the heels of his palm against his eyes and sighed. Shit. He’d had a plan for getting on the topic of therapy with Bucky. Gently. Slowly. When he started showing the signs of wanting to get help. But the mention of his slip up with the milk had startled him. It had been the first old memory in weeks and he forgot about being cautious. Forgetting about Zemo had been a careless mistake. A selfish mistake. One he made to make up for the fact he blamed himself.

***

Bucky sat in the long shadows provided by the sunrise and the large pine tree on the edge of the yard. His fingers tore up grass, stripping each blade until there was nothing left. He hadn’t meant to blow up at Steve, it’s just that some days it was hard enough to wake up. It took everything he had to simply hold himself together. If he unraveled himself for someone else, he didn’t know if he’d ever be able to piece himself back. 

It was at moments like this he thought it would be easier if he was still the Winter Soldier. He hadn’t needed to think, then. He hadn’t been expected to be anything but a machine. Bucky hesitated to say that it had been easy, but it had been easier than this. But Steve needed to know that Bucky was still human, so he tried. He really did. It was just so damn hard sometimes. And he was so tired. Of everything. 

If he was being honest with himself, he didn’t know if he could handle everything. He’d told Steve that because he needed time. Time to figure things out. Time to figure out if he wanted to heal; if he deserved to. After everything he had done—even if, as Steve put it, it wasn’t him—he wasn’t sure if he was allowed peace. 

He rested his head against the trunk of the tree, enjoying the rough texture, and closed his eyes. He took a deep breath. The backyard, just big enough to house a small garden, had become his haven the instant they’d gotten the house. When everything came to be too much, he would escape back here to be with the flowers he had coaxed into growth. Steve knew to leave him be. At least, for a little while. 

Bucky wouldn’t admit it, but he enjoyed it when Steve came out with his sketchbook and pencils and settled himself on the small patio. It had been too long since he’d taken the time to draw. As his eyes flickered back and forth between his subject and the page, the lines on his face would lessen. He relaxed. After everything he’d been through, Steve deserved that. 

As the sun continued to rise, Bucky moved away from the tree and gathered his gardening supplies. When he’d first walked past the flower shop down the street and seen all the life, he’d instantly known he needed to buy as many varieties as the backyard would support. Plus some. There was always room in the house for the more delicate species. 

He named them all, too. Greeting them was one of the first things he did every morning. After everything he’d been forced to recall for HYDRA, it was nice to remember something on his own volition. 

The lilac bush became Winifred; the purple flowers had always been his ma’s favorite. Likewise, the lavender beside it was Sarah. He thought Steve’s ma would appreciate continuing to be a source of calm. Hydrangeas had always made his sister giggle, so they were Becca in her honor. 

There were the smaller flowers as well that he was the proudest for remembering. The snapdragons, cosmos, daisies, and marigold he’d named after the Howling Commandos. Not because the names fit, but because they’d been the first he’d recalled after his family. 

It was the gentle giants that had become his favorites though; the sunflowers and the gladiolus. Maisie and Elizabeth. He just thought they were pretty. And it was nice to make something new. 

What Steve didn’t know was that Bucky did talk. Maybe the flowers didn’t have a Ph.D. in psychology, but they listened. And they didn’t judge. That was what he liked the most. They knew he could be gentle. They knew he cared. They couldn’t speak, but they knew. As he watered and pruned and just took comfort in their soft petals and relaxing scents, he told them about the things he saw each day. The little girl at the park who’d given him a hair tie; the young man who’d helped the old woman carry her groceries; the three-legged dog that roamed the streets near the house; the stupid thing Steve had done. Whatever he wanted to say, really.

He stayed away from the past as much as he could. They didn’t need to know that. His and Steve’s ma especially. They hadn’t seen them go to war. They didn’t need to know what it had made them become. 

He pulled the weeds around the lilac and smoothed down the mulch. 

“Stevie and I talked about me going to therapy this morning,” he said after making sure he was still alone. “Well, he talked. I stormed off. He said it would do me good to talk about all the stuff I’m going through. But I don’t see how it would help. They’d want me to talk about things that don’t need talking about.” 

He didn’t need to relive the nightmares that made him scared to sleep. 

“‘Don’t be silly, James,’ you’d say. I know. But, whatever’s happening inside my head is my own. No one else needs to see it. I don’t even want to see it. It’ll work itself out.” 

He moved on to the lavender. “Stevie’s pretty much the same: stubborn and stupid, but his heart’s in the right place. Just about keeled over when I told him I remembered him dropping milk over my good shoes. But you don’t need to worry about him anymore, health-wise, I mean. He’s gotten stronger. Doesn’t need me to take care of him anymore.” 

The hydrangea needed water. He dusted off his hands and grabbed the watering can from the side of the house. “You would have liked him, Becca,” he said as he gently watered the growing bush. “You might not believe it at first glance, seein’ as he’s all big now, but he used to be a little guy. I mean, even leaving the house was dangerous he had so many afflictions, but he didn’t let it stop him. That’s what makes him so...so Steve. I pulled him out of all kinds of situations. Now it’s him pulling me out. He doesn’t deserve to be held back by me.” 

Bucky wasn’t paying attention to what he was saying anymore. He was too caught up in pulling the weeds around the Commandos. 

“But things are different now. The world is...weird. It’s more and less than it used to be. I don’t quite know how to explain it other than that. But there’s tolerance now. Steve and I...we could have that now. If we wanted. But Stevie’s different. I don’t know if, if he...I don’t know if I can.” 

His fingers curled in the dirt as he realized what he was saying. 

Before the war, he and Steve had been inseparable. Well, as much as they could be with him working at the docks and Steve at school. Nights on the fire escape, shoulders brushing despite the room. Backs together as they slept despite the heat. Brothers. Best friends. He’d promised Steve’s ma he’d take care of him, so that’s what he played it off as. He knew what happened to the men who strove to be more. Beaten. If they were lucky. If not, it was so much worse. Steve couldn’t take worse. 

So he’d pretended to feel otherwise. Gone on dates. Brought gals home when he knew Steve was going to be gone. Anything to make him feel anything other than the way he did. If loving a man warranted beatings and getting cast out onto the streets, it needed to be wrong, didn’t it? _He_ was wrong. So when America joined the war, he’d enlisted as soon as he could. Anything to get him away from Steve and the feelings he could no longer hide. 

If it protected Steve, why should it matter that it tore Bucky apart? 

And then, he’d died and the way he felt hadn’t mattered anymore. He’d been designed to be nothing but a machine. He’d been good at it. It was easy, not being allowed to feel. It’s like he had been preparing his entire life for the mission. 

All it had taken to break his shell was Steve. All he’d had to do was say his name. 

His fingers worked the dirt around the gladiolus, mixing the fertilizer. The back of his neck burned. 

And now that the world was ready, he wasn’t. He didn’t even know if Steve felt that way. And even if he did, why should he want someone like Bucky, who didn’t even want himself? What right-minded person would, after everything he had done? Even if he’d had his orders, it had been his hands that pulled the trigger. They hadn’t made him do that. Not when he was in the thick of battle. Not when he’d wanted to. 

His hands shook as he put the fertilizer around the base of the sunflowers. The bitter taste of iron coated his mouth. A low buzzing filled his ears. He blinked, trying to clear his rapidly narrowing vision. Thick air blocked his lungs. His chest burned.

A large body blocked the sun. He barely heard his name being said. He wanted to tell Steve to go away, that he didn’t want him to see this, but all he could do was heave as he tried to take in air. 

“You’re safe, Buck.” Steve’s voice was muffled, but there. “You’re safe.” 

Steve still sat beside him when Bucky’s vision fully returned. Exhausted, his shoulder’s drooped. A cautious arm went around him. Too tired to fight, Bucky leaned against Steve and concentrated on taking in air. 

“Let’s get you inside,” Steve murmured. 

He pulled Bucky’s arm around his shoulder and helped him up. Eyes downcast, it was impossible to miss how his sketchbook lay haphazard on the patio, pencils strewn around. 

***

It had nearly given Steve a heart attack, seeing Bucky frozen and trembling by the sunflowers, his chest heaving for air. When Bucky had recovered enough to stand, he’d helped him to his room. Holding out a pair of sweatpants and a loose shirt for him to change into, it hadn’t taken him long to realize Bucky was in no fit state to care for himself. As gently as he could, he’d stripped away his sweaty and dirt-stained clothes and replaced them. Without a word, Bucky had collapsed onto his bed and curled into a ball, his back towards Steve. 

It was only when Bucky’s breathing had deepened into sleep that Steve left the room. 

He now sat on the couch, staring at the news but not taking any of it in. The garden was the one place Bucky had always felt safe. It was his space. He hadn’t even allowed Steve in at first. But one day, he’d left the door open in invitation. He’d stood on the threshold for minutes, debating his intrusion, but seeing Bucky so at ease in a place of his own design soon won him over. So now, when Bucky tended his plants, Steve sketched his easy smile and gentle hands. The way he’d been before.

He wondered how long it would take him to feel at ease among the flowers again and his fist clenched. It wasn’t fair, any of it. Seventy years of torture and brainwashing and now even his place of comfort was compromised. It frightened him to think about how long Bucky would have sat in that tortured position if Steve hadn’t been there to help him inside. Sure, he didn’t have a job anymore, but he wouldn’t always be around to help when Bucky was incapable of helping himself. As much as he hated to admit it, this was too much for the both of them to handle alone. 

Angry and still slightly jittery, Steve reached for the laptop Natasha had given him and pulled up a new tab. His fingers hovered over the keyboard. After a deep breath, he started to type. 

An hour later, he stood in Bucky’s doorway, a cup of tea in his hands. Bucky sat up now, but his hands still shook. He stared out the window, his shoulders tense. Steve knocked gently and waited until Bucky acknowledged him before walking in and settling himself on the edge of the bed. Bucky shifted so his back was against the wall and he more or less faced Steve.

“How’re you feeling, Buck?” he asked, passing him the warm mug. 

Bucky cupped it in his hands, his fingers curling around the rim. “If this happens when I talk to flowers about things that don’t matter, what would happen if I spoke to another person about the things I’ve done?” 

“It’s okay that you’re not ready,” Steve told him. “It took me years before I could even admit to needing help. It’s still not easy.” 

Bucky stared into the warm liquid before taking a drink. He relaxed slightly. 

“I’m trying,” he said quietly, staring into his drink again. 

Steve put a hand on his knee. “I know. And I’m here for you in any way you need me.” He hesitated before speaking again. After the way their conversation went this morning, he was on delicate ground. “But-” he saw Bucky tense, “I think we should get you a dog. One that’s trained to sit with you, help you during attacks, just be with you when people are too much.” 

Bucky raised his eyes. “You want me to get a service dog?” 

“I think it would be good for you.” 

Bucky let out a long sigh through pursed lips. “I’ve looked into it, Steve. But they’re expensive. We can’t afford-” 

Steve let out an involuntary laugh. “That’s what you’re concerned about, Buck?” 

Bucky frowned. “It’s not as if either of us are making a steady income.” 

“Do you know how much money the army owes me? Turns out being frozen for over sixty years without being relieved of duty does wonders for your bank account. Figured it would make things a bit easier, so I squared it all away before everything fell to shit.” 

“How much?” Bucky asked, taking a sip.

Steve shrugged. “Three mil, give or take a few.” 

Bucky spluttered, spraying his tea all over Steve. Unperturbed, Steve continued. “And once the government gets their head out of their ass, they owe you a check as well, considering you’re the longest-serving POW. So, if it’s money you’re worried about, I have to say, I think we’ll be okay.” 

Bucky coughed. “So money’s supposed to soften the blow of being tortured, brainwashed, and forced to kill.” 

Steve shrugged. “Can’t expect the government to do everything right.” He looked up in time to see the tail end of Bucky’s smile. It was small and tight, but it was there. “So what do you say? Should we get a dog?” 

This time Bucky really did smile. “One condition.” 

Steve raised his brows to show he was listening. 

“You have to get one, too.” 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve goes to therapy. Bucky is a little shit.

“So, we made the decision to get dogs,” Steve said. 

He sat in his therapist’s office, making note of the additional foliage that had been added in his absence. Bucky would like it here, only on account of the plants. He would ask about them, if he were here, see if they had names. If they didn’t, he’d give suggestions. He couldn’t seem to help it. 

Dr. Scheinbaum gave him a long stare. “You seem nervous. Why?” 

Steve sighed. “I only expected to have one dog. The house isn’t the biggest, and we aren’t the smallest. I don’t want to have to move. It wouldn’t be good. For either of us.” 

“I can’t help you if you’re not honest, Steve,” she said. 

Steve pulled a pillow to his chest. “That is part of it,” he insisted. 

“But?” 

Steve pinched the edges of the pillow until all the stuffing had moved to the middle. “He gets his dog, learns how to heal and gets the help he needs to move on. Then what?” 

“Shouldn’t that be a good prospect? You don’t want him to hurt forever.” 

“Of course not. I want everything for him. Peace, happiness. Whatever he wants. Whatever he needs, if I can give it, is his, no questions asked. It’s how it’s always been.” He punched the pillow so the stuffing returned to its proper place and continued the cycle. “Suppose when all of this is over, he doesn’t need me anymore.” 

“What would you do?” 

“If he wanted to move out, find his own place, I’d help him look.” He caught her eye and took a deep breath. At one point or another, he needed to say it. “But I wouldn’t be happy, him living in another place. I need him.” 

“It’s perfectly normal to rely on someone, Steve, particularly with what you’ve been through.” 

“It’s not just that.” He swallowed and returned his gaze to the pillow. A small piece of stuffing worked its way out of the hole Steve had worried in the fabric. “Back when I was small, before the war even, there was a night I couldn’t sleep so I went to sit on the fire escape like I usually did. Living near the docks, it was a normal sight to see guys drunk late at night. This night, they’d cornered a guy, only a bit bigger than I was. They started beating him. Between the pleadings and the sound of punches and kicks, I heard the sentence ‘prison’s too good for fags like you.’ I wanted to move, to go help him, but my body was lead. It was the first time I’d failed to stand up. After that, I fought everything.” 

The hole in the pillow had gotten larger. Without noticing, Steve pulled a bit of stuffing out and stretched it between his fingers. “The serum was designed to change me, fix everything that held me back. So I thought that when it was over, when I was no longer little, that part of me would be gone, too. But when I saw Bucky again, nothing had changed. And I was terrified. If the whole world was against it, it still had to be wrong, didn’t it? So I hid everything and tried to focus on my feelings for Peggy instead. I thought that if I still had Bucky beside me, I could be happy with her. She did make me happy.”

Unconsciously, Steve’s hand moved from the pillow to his pocket. The compass was warm between his fingers. 

“When Bucky fell, my world collapsed around me. I put everything into taking down the organization that killed him. I took more risks than necessary, put myself in the line of fire in place of my men as much as possible. When the Red Skull disappeared, I had nothing left. So when I had the chance to put the _Valkyrie_ in the water, I didn’t hesitate.”

He shuddered as he remembered the sensation of freezing water gripping his body. A blanket cushioned his back and he wrapped it around himself to stave off the chill. 

“I woke up, found that the world had changed. But the messages beaten into me hadn’t. I hear the words ‘love is love’ and I believe it. Seeing men and women love who they want and express their natural selves makes me so happy. But actually acting on it myself, believing I won’t be diagnosed with a mental disorder if I want to hold his hand in public, my body won’t let me believe it. I’m a symbol to America. I don’t want to know how America would react if they found out I’m not who they think I am.” 

“You love him,” she said simply. 

“I’ve always loved him.” He flinched as he said the words, imagining the blows that would have come if he’d said them before the war. “I’m happy enough if he’s in the same place as me, even if nothing between us happens. If his path to healing leads him somewhere else, I’m scared of how I’ll revert.” 

He met her gaze while drawing in a shaky breath. 

Dr. Sheinbaum looked down at her notebook before giving him a steady stare. “If he loved you, would you hesitate to show America the real you?” 

Steve swallowed, picturing himself at one of the parades he’d witnessed in his years back, Bucky’s hand in his. Kissing him like it was a victory. “If it made him happy, I’d do anything.” 

“Why don’t you do the same for your own happiness?” She leaned forward. “You’re worth the effort, Steve. It’s not just Bucky that needs to find peace, you do, too. Stop denying yourself what will make you happy.”

“I don’t even know if he feels the same,” Steve admitted. Bucky had brought home more than his fair share of women before the war. Steve couldn’t blame him. 

“Have you spoken to him about this?” 

Steve shook his head. “He’s got too much on his mind right now.” 

“I think you’re making excuses.” 

“I’m just looking out for his best interests.” 

“And what about yours, Steve? You’ve been through a lot, I get it. Maybe you’re afraid of committing to someone that doesn’t understand the dangers of your job. That’s understandable. But I don’t think that’s it. Moving deeper than the internalized homophobia from your childhood, what’s holding you back?”

Steve gripped the pillow so tightly his knuckles turned white. The words churned in his mouth before he was able to quietly voice them. “What if he doesn’t feel the same way? What if our lessons from childhood are still with him but not in the same way? What if I tell him I’m bisexual and he’s disgusted by me? But what if he does feel the same way, but not for me? I want to see him happy in every way possible, but seeing him with someone else...” he lost his words. 

“And what if he’s sitting with those same thoughts, Steve? You’re battling a closed door right now. Having a conversation at least provides an opening.” 

“But what then?” 

“I can’t tell you that, Steve. I only know what you let me know. But from what you’ve told me, it can’t hurt to try.” 

***

Steve’s hands shook the entire ride home. Pulling into the shady driveway, he killed the ignition and sat. He didn’t know if he could do what he needed to. For as long as he could remember, Bucky was his constant. Steve had already lost him once. He couldn’t do it again. But he didn’t know how long he could smile and pretend the casual touches were enough. 

Bright noon sun filtered through the trees. He touched his head against the handlebars, completely drained. Sleep had been almost non-existent the previous night and, after therapy, he had nothing left to give the day. All he wanted to do was curl up in the sun and nap. Dr. Scheinbaum told him to have the talk right when he got home, but she didn’t know how tired he was. He wasn’t ready to talk about his nightmares.

Bucky was laying on the couch with a book when he finally mustered the courage to enter the house. A small smile quirked his lips when he peered up from the pages. 

“It looked like you were contemplating the world out there on your bike,” he said. 

“Maybe I was,” he replied, moving to sit on the couch beside him. Bucky lifted his legs and settled them back on Steve’s lap. Steve swallowed and put his hands on his feet. “How’s the book?” 

"Did you know that the Humpback Whale has the most complex and varied voice range in the entire animal kingdom?” 

Steve hummed. 

“Their songs can be heard across miles. Researchers have spent years trying to decipher meaning from it. Imagine it, Stevie, spending your days analyzing that amazing music.” 

Steve smiled at Bucky’s excitement and let his head lean back. His eyes drifted shut as Bucky continued to chatter. Here in the sun, with Bucky so near, he wasn’t in any danger of dreams. 

“Steve?” A hand gently shook his shoulder. He blinked himself awake, working hard to clear his vision. A Bucky-bear was tucked under his chin. Bucky hovered above him. 

“What is it? What’s wrong?” he asked, sitting up quickly and immediately regretting his decision. His vision wavered as the head rush reached its climax. 

“I want to go to the aquarium.” 

Steve looked up at him. His eyes were bright with excitement. The book on whales was tucked beneath his arm. 

“You know there’s no whales there, right?” He didn’t want Bucky to be disappointed when they reached the exhibits. 

“Of course they don’t have whales, Steve. Do you know how many aquariums in the United States actually have whales? Not very many, which is good, because they don’t deserve to be cooped up. I just want to see the fish.” 

Steve acknowledged the fact with a dip of his head. Leaving the house was something Bucky clearly needed, but the aquarium would be crowded. The busiest place they’d been was the grocery store an hour before it closed. 

“I don’t want to shoot down your idea, but you do know we’re still on the government watch list, right? What happened in Siberia and breaking into the Raft didn’t do so much for the trust factor.” 

Bucky just stared at him. For a moment, he looked so much like his old self Steve couldn’t remember what year it was. He raised his eyebrows and Steve nearly squirmed.

“You went into your own exhibit in nothing but a hat and no one noticed you. I hate to break it to you, but they don’t see you—they see the uniform. And besides, no one is going to care about two senior citizens going to the aquarium.” 

“Thanks,” Steve said dryly and promptly yawned.

Bucky shrugged. “Say what you will, it’s the cold hard truth, Stevie boy.” 

Steve raised his eyebrows. “What did you call me?” 

Bucky just grinned and bumped his shoulder into his. “Come on, let’s go see some fish.” 

***

It had been surprisingly simple to convince Steve to let them leave the house. Bucky had expected it to take more effort on his part. He wondered how much of it had to do with him still being half asleep. Even now, trying to put his shoes on the wrong feet, he was still trying to blink himself awake. 

Bucky had loathed to wake him. In his sleep, Steve had curled himself around his legs. His head had somehow ended up in his lap. The eyelashes he’d always been jealous of had fluttered softly against his cheek. Bucky’s hand had ended up in his hair. The moment of peace that followed was only one of a handful he’d experienced since moving in with Steve. While he’d slept, Bucky let himself imagine a life where this was normal; where he was okay enough for it to be normal. 

He’d let Steve sleep as long as he could stand staying on the couch. When he carefully shifted Steve off his lap, Steve clung to him. Bucky had forgotten how Steve made himself impossible extract. Even when small, he’d found ways to attach himself. He supposed it helped keep him warm when his body was nothing but bone. After five minutes of detaching fingers curled like vices around his belt loops, Bucky was able to stand. Steve had immediately begun to frown. To appease him, Bucky had grabbed the Bucky-bear Steve insisted on keeping in the house and tucked it beneath his arm. It had taken less than a second for it to be impossible to remove.

He’d thought getting up and moving would satisfy him, but after straightening up the kitchen and stretching, the itch to leave the house grew deeper. If he didn’t leave, he’d explode. He didn’t want to know what that would include. He also didn’t know what would happen if he left the house alone. So he’d woken Steve and fought back laughter when he nearly rolled off the couch. 

“You might want to try putting your shoes on the other feet,” Bucky snickered when it was clear Steve wasn’t going to make any progress on his own.

“How long were you going to let me struggle?” Steve asked, finally pulling on his boots. 

“Until it became pathetic.” 

Steve flipped him the bird. Bucky just smiled. He was an ass. Some things not even torture could change. 

“You might also want to comb your hair, unless you want to go out with your bed head.” 

Steve maintained fierce eye contact as he ran his fingers through his hair. Bucky fought to keep his face straight. 

“Happy?”

Bucky looked him up and down. His shirt was wrinkled from having been slept in, but his leather jacket would hide the worst of it. Sunglasses would hide the dark circles beneath his eyes. A hat would cover the hair his fingers had done nothing to fix. 

“Moderately.” 

Steve shoved a hat on his head. Bucky wondered how long it would take before he realized it was adorned with a WWII veteran logo. Technically, it wasn’t a lie. Bucky grabbed his own hat and shrugged into his jacket. He rolled his left shoulder while pulling a glove over his metal fingers. Shuri’s new arm was infinitely better than the one provided by HYDRA, but it still didn’t attract positive stares. 

“Let’s just go,” Steve muttered. Bucky was only too happy to oblige. 

The ticket officer stared at the cards that marked the two of them as veterans for a minute before looking at them. They weren’t their official cards, of course. Those were buried deep. Natasha had managed to procure them fakes before they’d been forced to go into hiding. Bucky was determined to use them whenever they had the chance, even if Steve was a millionaire. 

“Is something the matter?” Bucky asked, an expression of perfect innocence on his face. Next to him, Steve yawned. Again.

“Are you aware this designates you as veterans of World War Two?” the tired-looking teenager asked. 

“Is that a problem?” 

“Sir, that was in the forties.” 

“I think I look quite good considering, don’t you think?” 

The teenager looked around, possibly looking for hidden cameras. Bucky occasionally saw snippets of prank shows while flipping through channels. “Is this a joke?” 

“Just be glad he isn’t asking for a senior discount as well,” Steve said, turning to look at the growing line behind them. In his moment of distraction, Bucky raised his hand and pointed at the ticket officer. Steve hit him. “No.” 

“I don’t get paid enough for this shit,” the teen muttered, shoving the cards back at them. Bucky pocketed them with a flourish. “The total will be $48, Misters uh Hubbard and Byrne.” 

Steve promptly handed him the money before Bucky could comment on the price. “Keep the change. Sorry my friend’s such a little shit.” 

Grabbing Bucky’s arm, he hauled him into the aquarium. 

“You know,” Bucky said, grabbing a map from the information table, “if the government wasn’t actively trying to arrest you and you still had a job, you could have saved 50% percent on your ticket.” 

No one was going to say he didn’t do his research before convincing Steve to let them come. 

“My apologies for saving your ass. But was all that scrutiny worth the 20%? We’re supposed to be lying low.” 

Bucky stared at him. “I did my time. I want my benefits.” 

Steve buried his face in his palms and shook his head. Bucky unfolded the map and pulled Steve in the direction that would take them towards the reef.

If someone asked Bucky what it was about the ocean that intrigued him enough to stand in a crowded room, he wouldn’t be able to tell them. Maybe it was the constant cycling of the fish as they worked their way towards the top of the tank. No matter what forced them to the bottom, they always swam upward. And there were so many different colors. Yellows and reds, oranges and blues. The pufferfish that stayed near the glass was Bucky’s favorite. It reminded him of Steve: unassuming until threatened. Even when small, Steve had always been a force to be reckoned with. Bucky named him Jeffrey and prayed he wasn’t as dumb as his human embodiment. 

The dim lighting of the room also comforted him. Bucky sat on one of the many benches in front of the tank and watched the reflection of water marble the carpet. Under the din of muted conversations, he could hear the sound of the water. It flowed back and forth in time to the warping floor. The gentle hum of the filter was so different than the harsh whirring that had accompanied his chair. Bucky could have sat there all day, listening to the sound and associating it with peace. 

Steve sat beside him. Bucky frowned. It was the first time he hadn’t sat so close their shoulders brushed. Most of the time, it was Bucky that needed to initiate the distance; he still wasn’t fully accustomed to a gentle touch. Steve bit his lip. Whatever he’d spoken about in therapy had shaken him. And he wondered why Bucky refused to go.

The shadows under his eyes worried Bucky. Nights on the couch had come to be expected. While Bucky occasionally dozed in the timeless hours of darkness, whenever he woke, Steve still stared straight ahead. Apart from the couple hours that afternoon, Bucky didn’t know the last time Steve had slept.

Bucky turned to fully look at Steve. He stared at a couple that stood by the glass. When their fingers intertwined, his jaw tightened and he looked away. Bucky looked at his own hands. The one that was still flesh was covered in scars. Most of them were self-inflicted. Carrying a knife had never been a safe option. It required focus. It’s why he liked them.

He bumped Steve’s shoulder. “What’s your opinion on seals?”

The afternoon had cooled slightly with the cloud cover. According to the weatherman, there was supposed to be a storm that night. Paired with the greying skies, the prospect of rain had driven people indoors. Bucky couldn’t say he was mad about it. There were only a few others near the seal enclosure.

He watched the animals play with a beach ball and wondered if they knew they weren’t free. But they looked happy enough. They had food and each other. The air was saturated with the spray of the ocean. Beside him, Steve stood with his eyes closed. His face was tight. His knuckles were white against the railing.

“What’s eatin’ at you, Stevie?” He stood as close as possible without their shoulders brushing.

Steve shifted his head enough for Bucky to see the tired smile. His eyes stayed dull. “I’m just tired. But this is nice, standing out here like this without thinking there’s going to be a fight. Until I got out, I didn’t realize how much of my life was spent in preparation for battle.”

Bucky barked a laugh before he could stop himself. “If you told me I would ever hear Steve Rogers say that he didn’t want to fight, I’d have thought you crazy.” The number of times Bucky had pulled Steve out of an alley, battered, bleeding and yelling a string of curses over his shoulder, had him believing Steve liked being punched.

Steve leaned back, letting his grip on the railing keep him from falling. “You notice a lot of people when you’re invisible,” he said quietly. “You see the way the guys on the walls watch the women down the block, how they giggle but begin to walk that much faster. No one else seemed to notice how much angrier the street got when the sun went down. If I stood by and let what I knew would happen happen, part of that would be on me. So I stood up. 

Bucky blew out a breath through tight lips. “Steve.”

“And I know it was stupid. Any one of the punches and kicks could have killed me, but that’s what made me feel alive. When it’s your body holding you back, you feel powerless. Those fights, standing up for what I knew was right…I was just trying to find my power. I couldn’t do much, but I could do enough to distract. I knew you’d always be there to watch my back.”

Bucky blinked. “Wait. Are you telling me that one of the reasons you got into so many fights was to assure I wouldn’t leave?”

Steve swallowed. His eyebrows knit together. “Is it so hard to believe that I doubted sometimes? Why would someone like you—strong, brave, handsome—want to be around someone like me? I was brittle, damaged. I cared too much about the little things. But you promised my ma you’d watch out for me, so I got into trouble. I knew you’d always find me before things got too bad. You’d bring me home and patch me up. When you finished your tirade, we’d sit on the fire escape. Those were always my favorite nights because I knew you’d still be there when I woke up the next morning.”

“Steve.” Bucky tried to interrupt him, but Steve kept talking. With the way he stared unseeingly at the seal, Bucky doubted he even heard him. He picked at his fingers. Bucky wondered how long this had been sitting inside him and what had finally broken the dam.

“After my ma died, you were all I had left. I needed you. I’ll always need you.”

Bucky almost laughed. It was hard to believe how thick Steve could be sometimes. “I was proud of you, you know. Sure I thought you were crazy, but watching you stand up, that’s the real reason I was able to volunteer for the army. I figured if you could get beat up every day to fight for what you believed in, so could I.”

Steve still didn’t look at him. Bucky sighed. “I need you too, Steve. That’s the real reason I pulled you out and patched you up. You’re my best friend. I just never thought I’d need to say it for you to believe it.”

Steve’s stance relaxed a little. Bucky slung an arm around his shoulder and pulled him into a hug. It only took a second before Steve wrapped his arms around him and held tight.

“I’m not going anywhere, Stevie. I’m finally where I want to be. Now can we please go see some sharks?” 

***

It did end up raining that night. By the time they got home, the sky had darkened considerably and thunder rumbled across it. It hadn’t taken long for the clouds to break.

Bucky made Steve lay on the couch while he prepared dinner. Since figuring out they had a kitchen with more than a broken stove, Bucky had insisted on making every meal. Breakfast was the only thing he allowed Steve to help with.

Steve lay curled with the Bucky-bear tight to his chest. Sam had given it to him as a joke, but Steve enjoyed it. Having something to hold when he slept had always made him feel safe. He twisted the fabric of the jacket it wore as he replayed the conversation at the aquarium. It wasn’t quite what he’d told Dr. Scheinbaum, but it had been the truth. He’d broken the barrier down. Now he just needed to take the next step.

“Fuck.”

The irritated mutter had Steve looking over the back of the couch into the kitchen. Bucky’s entire front was drenched with water. He pushed back his sopping hair and glared at the sink sprayer with enough hatred Steve was glad it wasn’t alive. Regardless, he wasn’t so sure about its life expectancy.

Bucky caught him looking and the glare was transferred to him. “_Somebody_ didn’t fully turn this off when they did the dishes this morning,” he said, his voice the lethal combination between sweet and murderous.

Steve swallowed and lowered himself back onto the couch. A moment later, he heard Bucky return to work, muttering to himself.

He hadn’t expected to doze, but the sound of the rain on the windows and Bucky humming to himself while moving around the kitchen had lulled him. When Bucky gently shook him awake, he was surprised to find that enough time had passed for his shirt to be completely dry.

“Dinner’s ready. If you can stop snoring long enough to eat some.” His smile was so shit-eatingly large, Steve wanted to smack him. But then he smelled what was in the kitchen.

“Buck…”

“Figured you could use a taste of home today. Come on.” He held out his right hand to help him up.

Steve hadn’t eaten a proper Irish Stew since he ma had died. Bucky watched him intently as he brought the first spoonful to his mouth. He nearly melted into his chair. While nothing could beat his ma’s recipe, the abundance of spices now available to them didn’t hurt.

“_Go raibh maith agat, _Bucky.” The tongue of his childhood felt like a friend in his mouth. He hadn’t spoken it since the funeral. It comforted him to know his mouth still knew how to form it.

“_Tá fáilte romhat,”_ Bucky replied. Not quite perfect, but close enough for Steve to be happy.

He continued to eat. Each bite brought back a different memory from his childhood. His ma tucking him in with stories from Ireland; her singing softly in the lilting sean nós style when he burned with fever; him and Bucky laying on their stomachs while listening to the radio; dancing with each other to practice for the dates Bucky always managed to procure for them. He caught Bucky’s eye and the soft smile he got in return sent Steve’s heart pounding.

“I did have fun this afternoon,” Steve said in hope to distract Bucky from the flush that he was positive burned his cheeks.

Bucky’s smile widened. “It would’ve been better if I’d’ve been able to get us senior discounts as well.”

“I’m pretty sure you can’t do a veteran discount and a senior discount at the same time, Buck.”

Bucky raised his eyebrows. “Are you sure about that?”

Despite being mentally and physically exhausted, Steve couldn’t sleep. Once again, the conversation replayed in his head. He’d planned on telling Bucky everything, he really had. The words had been in his mouth. They’d just been too heavy to leave his tongue. And then Bucky had said he needed Steve as well, and nothing else had mattered.

_I’m bisexual_. He tried saying the words out loud, but they refused to come. Each time he tried, they weighed more.

Thunder cracked. The heaviness of the night suddenly grew oppressive. He threw the covers off and walked into the living room. Bucky already sat on the couch. He sat, remembering to leave a small space between them. Bucky looked at him and pulled him close, settling his arm around Steve’s shoulders. He smelled like soap and the rain. His hand rubbed soft circles between his shoulder blades, easing away the tension. Before he could comprehend anything else, he was asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They go grocery shopping. Bucky buys plants. Dogs. Jesus Christ, they're really gay.

“We’re out of milk,” Bucky said, grabbing the carton from the fridge and unscrewing the cap.

“I just bought three gallons a few days ago. How are we out?”

Bucky met his gaze while draining the last of it in one long gulp. “I like milk.”

The truth of the matter was that Bucky had never particularly liked the drink growing up. It seemed wrong to drink something that came out of another animal. It was also expensive. But after being asked if he wanted a glass when he hadn’t been allowed to answer, he was determined to drink as much of it as possible. It was fun to be petty even when the person at the receiving end was dead.

“You drank three gallons of milk in three days?”

Bucky set the empty carton by the sink. “I like milk,” he repeated.

Steve sighed and went back to reading the paper. “Make a list. We’ll go to the store later.”

The thing about two super soldiers living together under the same roof, especially when one of them aspires to be a master chef, is that they go through a lot of food. Bucky never liked to make the same thing twice. Unless Steve requested it, that was. The act of making new things was healing.

He’d started off small to get used to a kitchen again; he’d did his best in Romania, but his apartment hadn’t been designed for a chef. Boxed macaroni and cheese, ramen, rotisserie chicken with sides. Simple. The first week, he’d only set off the smoke alarm once. And that hadn’t been his fault, really. He’d put Steve in charge of watching the stove while he went to the bathroom. Bucky would never let him forget it.

After that, he decided making things from scratch was the safer option. It was harder to set packages of powdered cheese on fire when they weren’t part of the recipe. And he’d put Steve on the sidelines. Except for when it came to breakfast—he was a wizard at flipping pancakes. Bucky didn’t understand it.

Five-cheese macaroni, traditional ramen, smoked turkeys. If he saw it on the Food Network or Cooking Channel, he wrote it down. It would be some time before he got to clam chowder or chicken parmesan, or that stir fry Gordon Ramsey made in five minutes, but he would. And it would be delicious. 

Bucky looked at his recipe list. A gumbo pasta bake was next. The following three dishes included fish. He frowned. Some rearranging would be done. Humming to himself, he rummaged through the kitchen to see what he needed.

Just like his garden, the kitchen was his safe place. Everything had its place. The cutting boards, organized by material and size, lived in the cupboard beneath the knives. Plates and bowls, stacked in even piles by size (Steve learned very quickly not to grab two from the same stack—they always needed to be even) were next to the glasses. Spices, in perfect lines organized by the commonly used before fading into alphabetical order, were to the right of the stove. 

It was something he could control, so he made sure it was perfect. He couldn’t quite breathe right if something wasn’t in its correct place. Steve knew. 

“I’m ready,” he told Steve twenty minutes later.

“Give me an hour,” Steve replied, barely glancing up from the computer.

Bucky sat beside him. “What’re doing?”

Steve turned the laptop slightly so he could see. “You said I needed one too, so I’m working on my application.”

“Good.”

“How’s yours coming?”

Bucky swallowed. He’d looked at it, started it even, but it hadn’t taken long for the questions to overwhelm him. _List all related and unrelated physical and/or psychiatric disabilities. List the limitations of the disabilities. List any disabilities of residences living within the same household, and the relationship of the disabled parties. Does the disabled party, or other resident in the same home, suffer from periods of frustration where they would be verbally abusive to others?_ It went on and on. With each question, Bucky felt worse about himself.

“I don’t think I’m fit for a dog, Steve.”

“You are, Buck.”

Bucky shook his head. It scared him to admit this, but Steve needed to know. “Do you know there’s mornings when I wake up feeling like I’ve just been reconditioned? I just feel so angry and empty and like any little thing would set me off. The words might not be in my head anymore, but my body doesn’t always know that. And if I put that on my application, because they deserve to know that I might hurt somebody, why would they trust me with a dog?”

Steve closed the laptop. “You’re not going to hurt your dog.”

“How do you know?”

Steve looked at him steadily. “Because I know those mornings. If I see you in the garden before the sun rises, I know. And I know those are the mornings you care the most for your flowers because they’re the mornings you need them. You come in when you’re ready and your hands are covered in dirt. Most of the time, your face is too. Sure, they aren’t the easiest days, but you get through them.”

“What about-”

Steve put a hand on his arm to stop him. “Bucky. I trust you. Trust yourself.”

“Okay.”

Steve patted his arm and opened the laptop again. Not sure what else to do, Bucky grabbed his list and went to sit in the backyard.

***

When Bucky was outside, Steve scrolled down to the question he’d been avoiding.

_Has the disabled party attempted suicide in the past? If so, please list applicable dates of these incidents. _

It would have been easy to jump out of the plane before it crashed into the ice. He just hadn’t seen the point. The Red Skull was the only thing keeping his focus away from the numbness that came from the loss of Bucky. Until he was gone, Steve hadn’t understood how much he’d relied on that fight to keep him standing. He’d known the war would soon be over. And after the serum, who was he without a fight?

Until he’d saved the 107th from the HYDRA lab, he’d been nothing more than a choir boy. Sure, he’d helped the troops, boosted bond sales. At one point, he’d actually believed he made a difference. And then he realized, what did it matter if the people back home were excited to see him when it was the men overseas who needed the moral? He’d been nothing more than a joke. A dancing monkey. Bucky and Peggy had been the only ones to see him as something more than a uniform.

Saving himself hadn’t seemed worth it. Self-preservation had never been his strongest suit. There were always people better than him. Peggy had given him the courage he’d needed to point the plane towards the ice. She deserved someone who could stand tall beside her. After everything, that wasn’t Steve.

Waking up, it had only taken him moments to realize something was wrong. The game. The woman. He knew now that Fury had been testing him, to see whether or not he was the legend he’d grown up hearing stories about, to see how he’d react to being thrust into a world starkly different than the one he’d left. Forty-five seconds. Steve was simple. He wasn’t stupid.

When he was left alone in a sparsely furnished apartment, it had taken everything in his power to not crumble. He didn’t think he’d live.

Two weeks was all he’d been given before being asked to save the world again. When he saw the tesseract, he’d nearly broken down. He’d lost everything in his mission to destroy it. Seeing it sink to the bottom of the ocean had been his one slice of peace before he’d died. But times had changed, he reminded himself, and settled himself into destroying it again. This time, he hadn’t been the one to sacrifice himself.

He threw himself into his work. Barely slept. Only ate enough to keep himself in optimal shape for missions. When he was alone, he worked off his anger and guilt in the gym. He shouldn’t be alive. Between flashbacks, he punched the bag until his knuckles were bruised and bleeding.

He refused to buy a calendar.

Once she knew he kept his schedule bare to keep himself free for anything that might require his assistance, Natasha worked to fill it. They devoted Saturdays to films. Sundays, they drove and talked about nothing. Sometimes, they let the radio talk for them. It was nice, not being alone. Those afternoons were the times he felt most normal. She didn’t expect him to be anyone else but Steve Rogers. She didn’t care he didn’t know who that was. She knew what it was like, she told him, to not know who you are apart from a suit. She too had been created for a specific purpose.

During missions, he put himself into the thickest battle. Apart from Thor, he was the least likely to die. The serum wouldn’t let him. There were moments when his mind transformed fights into German woods. Robots became HYDRA soldiers. The worst part was when he said something to Bucky only to have Clint reply.

_Has the disabled party attempted suicide in the past? If so, please list applicable dates of these incidents. _

His hands shook as he typed.

Yes. 1945. Plane crash. Present. Reckless endangerment.

Cold water surged around his feet. Metal creaked around him. Steve swallowed and gripped the compass, rolled it in his fingers. He closed his eyes and focused on his senses. Cars drove up the street. Dogs barked next door. His feet were warm and dry. Bucky was alive; he was in the backyard tending to his flowers. The soft speech was him talking to them. It was 2016, not 1945.

The numbness in his feet slowly disappeared. It was 2016, not 1945. He opened his eyes. It was 2016, not 1945. Scrolling through to make sure his application was complete, he pressed submit and closed the laptop. Dr. Scheinbaum would be proud of him.

Bucky sat cross-legged with his back against the pine tree. His shoulders were relaxed. From the patio, Steve could hear him humming. He always hummed when he thought he was alone.

They hadn’t talked about the previous night. When they woke up, they found that they had slid down further onto the couch. Steve hadn’t been on top of Bucky, but his head had been right over his heart. Bucky’s arm had been tight around his shoulders. Had it not been his real one, Steve knew he would have had bruises. They’d slept like that as children. It had been reflex to bury his head in Bucky’s chest and breath in the scent of sleep that masked him. There had been a gleam in Bucky’s eye when he’d finally lifted his head. Steve couldn’t remember a time he’d wanted to kiss him more.

He needed to say it. The words sat heavily in his mouth. Air stuck in his dry throat. He forced his legs to carry him over. When he reached his side, Bucky looked up and smiled. There was a daisy behind his ear. He was remarkably pretty. 

_I’m bisexual._ “I’m ready for the store, if you are.”

“You finished your application?”

I_’m in love with you_. “Submitted and ready for review. It would be good if you submitted yours today, too. Maybe we could do the video interview together, save some time.”

“Yeah, I’ll do it when we get home.”

_I just needed you to know that_. “Good. Ready?”

Bucky took his list out of his pocket. “Dinner this week is going to be so fucking good, you’re not prepared.”

Steve chuckled to himself, held out his hand, and helped Bucky up.

The grocery store during daylight hours was a new experience for the both of them. Before, they’d chosen to perform their shopping when they knew the store would be empty. It was easier that way. Too many people pressed up around them was uncomfortable for them both. After the aquarium, they realized it was possible. Regardless, it might not have been the best idea.

Two large super-soldiers, a cart, a small aisle, and differing opinions on what was considered a good snack. What could go wrong?

“Bucky, cheese and peanut butter crackers are not an adequate snack,” Steve said, taking the package from the cart for the third time. He didn’t even remember him putting them in this time.

“Says you. Which is why you’re not allowed to make the food in our house. Get your own cart if you don’t like what I put in mine.”

Bucky took the crackers back and returned them to the cart, which was already semi-loaded with the more important items for the week. Five gallons of milk, seafood, and pasta. And now, a package of cheese and peanut butter crackers. A man down the aisle stared at them. Steve sighed in defeat. Bucky grinned in victory. Maintaining fierce eye-contact, he stuck another package in the cart and continued walking, leaving Steve with no choice but to follow quickly in his wake.

He didn’t know what it was about, but leaving Bucky unsupervised with a cart always ended in disaster. Last week, he’d decided to ride it the way young kids did, stepping onto the bottom and holding the handles. The only positive of the situation was that, apart from a couple of workers, Steve had been the only one in the store to see him crash into the stand of plums. By the way Bucky couldn’t keep the smirk off his face on the way home, Steve knew he’d done it on purpose. Why only get a couple when you could be forced to by the entire crate you knocked to the floor?

With the mood Bucky was in now, Steve couldn’t be sure he wouldn’t do the same thing, even if there were more people to see. He was now consulting his list and grabbing jars of seasoning Steve was sure he’d never owned in his life.

By the time they reached the produce section, their cart was almost full. Steve had attempted to convince Bucky they didn’t need four bags of family sized kettle cooked potato chips, and Bucky had once again told him he could get his own cart and make his own meals as long as he didn’t do it in his kitchen. The bags now balanced precariously on top of the cheese.

“What else do we need?” Steve asked, trying to grab the list from Bucky so he could help. Bucky kept it far out of his reach.

“Onion, bell pepper, okra, thyme and plums.”

They neared the fruit stand where a harried looking clerk was working to replenish the supply of purple fruit. He looked up at Bucky and visibly swallowed. Steve remembered he’d witnessed Bucky’s cart surfing and crash. Steve watched Bucky smile at him and reach over to start feeling the plums. The clerk tried to smile back. It always struck Steve as odd that Bucky used his metal hand to determine the ripeness of the fruit. He’d asked about it one day and Bucky had shrugged, saying it was just as capable of being gentle as he real one.

When he’d grabbed what he wanted, he nodded to the terrified looking clerk and returned to the cart.

“You’d think I’d done something terrible to the guy or something, the way he was shaking,” Bucky said. His lips were twitching in an attempt to refrain from smirking.

Steve snorted.

***

“Pull in here,” Bucky told Steve as they passed the sprawling campus of the garden store.

“Don’t you already have more plants than you have room for?” Steve asked, but turning into the parking lot nonetheless.

The fact of the matter was Bucky was running out of space outside. Inside, however, was a completely different matter. In fact, it was shocking just how plant free the interior of their house was. There was a vase of flowers on the counter, a fiddle-fig tree in the living room and one small succulent in Bucky’s room, but that was it. Bucky was going to change that. He had a plan.

“Steve, when are you going to learn that there is always room for more plants?”

“Do you want me to stay in the car or come in with you?”

“I’m not going to tell you what to do, Steve. But finding the perfect plants might take time.”

Steve killed the ignition and stuck the keys in his pocket.

_Loft and Vine_ was everything Bucky could have hoped for in a garden store. A converted barn, it was more of a greenhouse than an actual store. Spider plants hung from the ceiling. Dirt scented the air. Picnic tables filled with a variety of succulents in various planters lined the aisles instead of shelves. Small sprouts in plastic containers stood along the sides. A small black cat with a white belly lounged on the counter, flicking its tail lazily. Bucky would never admit to it, but Orca was one of the reasons he loved coming back.

Spotting the table of succulents he had in mind, he made a beeline towards it. Louisa, the slightly stout owner, turned into the barn. A wide smile grew on her face.

“Mr. Hubbard! So lovely to see you again.”

“Louisa,” he greeted with a warm grin.

Steve hovered behind him, looking around. This was the first time he’d ever accompanied Bucky. It was something he had always done alone. Just like Steve’s art store was his place, this was Bucky’s. But the look of awe on Steve’s face was something he enjoyed, so maybe it could be Steve’s place too. They didn’t yet have a place that they could call theirs.

“Anything I can help you find today?”

Bucky picked up a large ceramic planter in the shape of a VW Bug hosting a variety of different succulents. It made him happy just holding it. “I’m just looking right now.”

“Of course, of course. Just let me know if I can be of any assistance.”

“I will.” Bucky set the planter back on the table and grabbed the one next to it. This car was a deep mauve and would look nicer with the pale grey of his room. “Steve, be a dear and grab me a basket, will you? They’re in the front.”

He looked in at him in time to see the end of an eye roll, but he went just the same. Bucky set the car gently on the wire bottom when he returned and went in search of cacti.

When they finally pulled into the driveway, Bucky was the proud owner of fifteen new cacti, car driving succulents, an aloe vera plant, and a spider plant. Half of them already had names.

“Don’t forget, you said you’d finish your application before the night ends,” Steve said, setting the last of the groceries on the counter.

“I know.”

“If you wanted to get to work, I can put everything away.”

Bucky grabbed one of the bags of chips off the top of a bag, adjusted his grip on the pallet of plants, and headed to his room. He was going to work on his application, but his first order of business was to give his new children homes.

The cacti-Buddy, Holly, Frank, Lenny, George, Maggie, Eowyn and Edna (plus the seven others waiting on a name)-were the proud new owners of his window sill. Ivan—the spider plant—had the penthouse view from a hook on his ceiling. Gregory the car sat stalled on his nightstand. Alfie the aloe vera would live in the living room to keep Fred the fiddle fig company.

When it was impossible for him to stall any longer, Bucky opened the bag of chips, ate a handful, grabbed his laptop and sat on his nest of blankets. His application sat on the screen, as empty as he’d left it.

_Name of the disabled party. _

His fingers hovered over the keyboard. When Natasha put everything on the internet, his identity as the Winter Soldier was leaked. Everyone knew how James Buchanan Barnes was responsible for the assassination of JFK. But there could be more than one person with that name, right? James Hubbard wasn’t the one who needed assistance.

_Name of the disabled party._

Bucky Barnes_._

_Age of disabled party._

_What is the disabled party’s date of birth?_

March 10, 1917.

_Has anyone in the home been convicted of a felony? Yes, or No. _

“Steve?” he called.

It didn’t take long for the blond head to pop into his room.

"Yeah?

“Are we pretending we’re not convicted felons?”

Steve hesitated, his tongue between his lips. “Yes?”

“That’s not a question you answer with a question, Steve.”

Steve scrunched his face. “Yes. We are pretending we’re not convicted felons.”

“That’s all I needed to know.”

_Has anyone in the home been convicted of a felony? Yes, or No._

No.

It felt wrong to lie so completely on a form that would pair him with an animal he had the potential to hurt. They didn’t need his whole history, but they deserved something. The curser blinked as he debated deleting the two letters. He bit his lip. It technically wasn’t Bucky Barnes that was a felon.

It’s complicated.

He nodded. That it was. He took another handful of chips.

_List all related and unrelated physical and/or psychiatric disabilities. _

Left metal arm. Memory issues.

He would leave it at that. His arm barely bothered him anymore. There were times when he barely remembered it was any different. He remembered the first time he’d woken up to see the monstrosity HYDRA had fitted on him; he still bore the scars from his fierce clawing. He rolled his shoulder, massaging it with his fingers. 

A light drizzle came down outside. Bucky opened his window to let in the cool wind and soft patter of rain. Shuri’s new arm was detachable. On the mornings he felt like a monster, it helped to take it off. There was only so much he could do with only one arm.

He took a deep breath and leaned his head against the wall, listening to the rain. During all his years as the Winter Soldier, he’d never been awake when it rained. For a time, he’d forgotten there was anything apart from snow and bitter cold. It was nice, being able to associate it with being safe. He hummed softly to himself.

_List the limitations of the disabilities._

Occasionally forgetting what year it is, where I am, what I’m supposed to be doing, and who other people are.

There was a lot more he could say about that, but he figured it was better to keep it simple. And he was working on it. By the time he actually got a dog (assuming he was approved), he hoped an episode of forgetfulness would be few and far between.

_List_ _ any tasks you would like a Service Dog to assist with._

Returning from dissociation. Boundary control. Panic attacks. Nightmares.

Steve didn’t know how bad his dreams had gotten as of late—it had been weeks since he’d woken shouting. The cold sweat and paralyzing terror was much worse. For hours afterwards, he saw Steve in the chair. Bucky could only watch helplessly as his handlers turned him into a soulless monster. It was only when he saw Steve in the morning, groggy and hair tousled, that Bucky could forget the cold and lifeless blue eyes staring at him.

He couldn’t tell Steve that every time he was able to fall asleep, he only woke up because he’d been killed by a callous hand. He couldn’t tell Steve that the first time he hadn’t dreamt was when his head was on his chest. He couldn’t tell him that he noticed the way his gaze had lingered on his lips and how he’d wanted to pull him close and kiss him.

Steve loved Peggy. It was as simple as that. He was still grieving her loss and Bucky had no right to desire anything more between them. It didn’t matter that his head was always clearer when he was around him, or that he was happier, that it was easier to smile and laugh. Because what if he told him and Steve wanted nothing to do with him anymore? What if when he found out that Bucky was… He shook his head. It was easier if they just stayed friends.

But Bucky didn’t know how much longer he could go without proper sleep. Steve couldn’t last much longer. He claimed he was fine, but he wasn’t. This morning he’d been better, but eight hours of sleep one night couldn’t make up for weeks of sleepless hours on the couch. It scared Bucky to admit, but the previous night had been the best sleep he’d gotten since before he fell. He’d felt safe. He knew Steve wouldn’t pin him down on purpose, and even if he did, his weight was comforting. And Steve couldn’t be in the chair if he was safe in Bucky’s arms.

Bucky shook his head again. He didn’t know why he was thinking about that. There was an application he needed to finish before dinner. It was a promise to Steve he intended to keep. 

_Does the disabled party, or other resident in the home, suffer from periods of frustration where they would be verbally abusive to others? _

Hasn’t happened, but could. 

Just because he hadn’t yet spilled his frustration out on Steve, didn’t mean it couldn’t happen. So far, it was enough to berate himself. There were days he knew he could try harder. There were some days he tried so hard that he didn’t know the person he pretended to be. Somebody he thought Steve would want, maybe. The person he’d been before everything. Things had been easier then. There hadn’t been as many eggshells to walk on.

He wondered what would have happened if America hadn’t joined the war. Bucky wouldn’t have had the option to enlist. Without it, he knew he wouldn’t have been able to leave Steve. He’d still have been terrified of how he felt, but he would’ve stayed. He made a promise to his ma. Bucky bit his lip. The room faded from focus.

If he hadn’t left, Steve wouldn’t have taken the serum. He wouldn’t have fallen. They wouldn’t have been frozen, beaten. Steve wouldn’t have fallen in love with Peggy. They would’ve grown old together. Bucky would’ve cracked sooner or later and confessed to the way Steve made him feel. And if he’d felt the same, maybe they would’ve explored it. It would have been terrifying, but Steve always made him brave.

“Hey, Buck.” Steve softly knocked on the door. “It’s nearly six.”

Bucky blinked. The room came into sharper focus. Steve had changed into a blue sweater. The beard he’d started growing in his time under the radar had grown out slightly, as had his hair. Bucky would never say it out loud, but he was beautiful.

“Bucky.”

“Hmm?” Bucky blinked again.

“It’s nearly six. Are you making dinner or are we getting take out?”

“Oh, um, I’ll be right out. I just want to finish this answer.”

Steve nodded and left the room. Bucky buried his face in his palms, drawing a hand over his chin. Any hope of having a shred of dignity when he entered the kitchen had just been torn to pieces. Be any more obvious and he might as well just tell him.

“Do you like it?” Bucky asked as Steve put the fork in his mouth.

“It’s delicious,” Steve mumbled around the mouthful.

Satisfied, Bucky stabbed his own fork in the gooey mess of pasta. For a time, the only sound was the faint drone of the news in the living room and the scraping of forks against plates.

“You’re getting really good at this,” Steve told him, spooning another heaping of the gumbo on his plate. Bucky hummed, mouth too full to answer in any acceptable manner.

“I enjoy it,” he replied after swallowing.

Steve smiled softly in reply. Bucky’s foot began tapping erratically against the floor. He tried to look away, but the blue of Steve’s eyes was too deep to swim out of. The air became impossibly thick. The smile slipped from Steve’s face and his eyebrows knitted together, the expression in his eyes growing deeper. Bucky’s heart beat violently in his chest. He found he could shift his gaze and it ended on Steve’s lips. Feather-light fingers brushed his. Bucky startled away.

“I need to go finish my application,” he choked out and fled the table.

***

Steve sat at the table, still staring at the place so recently vacated by Bucky. He was so fucking stupid. Reaching for his hand like that had been a fucking terrible idea. He didn’t know what he had been thinking. Well, he hadn’t been thinking, that was the problem. There had been a moment. There had been _something_ between them. He knew they both felt it. And then he’d ruined it. But god, did he want to hold his hand.

He let his head drop into his hands. His eyes itched with exhaustion. One night of sleep wasn’t enough to make up for the weeks of nightmares and restless dreams that had been keeping him awake. When he’d been small, sleeping together had been natural. There hadn’t been enough room for two beds. Putting the couch cushions together always seemed like so much work when they could just share. Steve had fit so perfectly into Bucky’s chest.

He remembered the sound of Bucky’s heart under his ear. Slow, strong and steady. It alone was enough to send him to sleep. Knowing Bucky was safe made it easy to sleep. Steve rubbed his face. He was being selfish. Bucky needed space. And after what happened during dinner, he didn’t want to risk the chance of Bucky retreating.

His plate was still full, but Steve couldn’t fathom eating any more. Standing slowly, he gathered his and Bucky’s plates and set them on the counter. Dishes were the last thing he wanted to do right now. A mindless job was dangerous when thinking would set him on a path he knew he shouldn’t walk. But leaving them for later would assure they wouldn’t get done, and nothing would send Bucky spiraling more than a dirty kitchen.

While the sink filled, he scraped the leftovers into a container to put in the fridge. They hadn’t eaten as much as they usually would’ve. Bucky always made enough to feed a small army, but when you ate as much as they did, it was necessary.

Tonight was supposed to be quiet. They’d earned it—today had been good. Exhausting, but good. They’d applied for dogs. They were healing. Slowly but surely, they were learning how to live after everything they’d been through. It had been almost a week since he’d seen Bucky in the garden before sunrise.

Hands deep in soapy water, he scrubbed the pan. None of it was fair. They hadn’t asked for this. All Steve had wanted to do was serve his country, to follow Bucky and make sure he stayed safe. They’d given their lives. In return, they’d been given fractured minds and beaten bodies. He scrubbed harder.

He wished he’d taken the chance to ask Peggy how she’d dealt with everything. She faced everything he had and come out seemingly fine. She’d been fine enough to have a husband and children. Out of everything he’d missed after putting the _Valkyrie _in the water, seeing her get married was what he regretted missing the most. Watching her be a mother was a close second. It would have been fun to be an insufferable god-father. He would have taught them Irish. Bucky would’ve laughed at him until Steve put him in the lessons, too. In this future, both of them were there. They all would’ve been happy.

There wouldn’t be nightmares. Bucky wouldn’t be secured in the chair. Steve wouldn’t be forced to work the machine that rewired his brain.

His hands shook as he dried them. He needed to ask.

Steve stopped when he reached the doorway of Bucky’s room. Bucky sat cross-legged on his bed, his back towards the door. His hair was tied back in a half-bun. He held something in his hand.

“Steve can be pretty dumb sometimes, but he’s a good guy,” he said quietly. “He likes to take responsibility for everything, make sure it gets done right. He’s always been like that, even when he was small. One time—he would be so embarrassed if he knew I told you this—he saw this really big guy, I mean, he was huge, bigger than Stevie is now even. All he did was nod to a lady walking past him.”

Steve leaned his head against the door frame and smiled. This had always been Bucky’s favorite story to tell about him because it didn’t involve him getting a black eye.

“He must have done something wrong because Stevie marched right up to him. Just imagine it, a scrawny little thing next to this big guy. But once Stevie had something to say, it didn’t matter how big the other person was. So he marched right up to the guy and proceeded to get into an argument about the honorability of tipping a hat. He said, and I quote ‘any guy that conceives himself to be of honorable status should tip his hat to a lady, regardless of her status because it’s the goddamn proper thing to do’. The guy just laughed, tipped his hat to Steve and kept walking. Stevie marched back over to me, huffing and puffing all angry-like. I think he wanted to get into an argument.”

Steve shook his head, breathing a laugh. Bucky set a flowering cactus on his window sill and started to hum. Steve waited a few moments before knocking on the door. Bucky turned to face him.

“Can we talk?” Steve asked.

“Okay.”

Steve sat on the edge of the bed, moving the closed laptop over.

“You finish your application?”

“Sent and ready for review,” Bucky replied. “But I won’t blame them if they can’t trust me with a dog.”

“They will,” Steve assured. It was the only thing he was sure of at the moment. He needed it to be true.

“How do you know?”

Steve looked at the window sill, where the fifteen cacti sat. “If you gave me one of your plants and told me to take care of it, I can assure you it would be dead within a couple days. I’m pretty sure if I come in here in a couple of weeks, you’ll have managed to get your plants to multiply.” He looked back to see a glow of happiness and pride in Bucky’s eyes. “Caring for things is what you do.”

“I like plants,” Bucky said, unable to keep a smile from twisting his lips upward.

_And I like you._ “You’ll get a dog. The application was the hardest part.”

Bucky nodded. Steve held his gaze until the air seemed to thicken again. He dropped his head and stared at his hands, picking at his nails. The serum hadn’t managed to erase the bad habit. Bucky put a hand on top of his. Without thinking, Steve twined his fingers through Bucky’s. His palm was rough with scars.

“I’m scared to fall asleep,” he whispered. “But last night, I wasn’t. I think just being near you helped. I…I felt-”

“Safe,” Bucky murmured. “You felt safe.”

“Yeah.” Steve opened Bucky’s hand and let his fingers trail the scars. “Do you think-could we try-can I sleep with you tonight?” The final words came out in a rush. He chanced a glance up to see Bucky nodding almost imperceptibly.

“I think I’d like that,” his words were nearly inaudible.

Bucky’s eyes flickered to his. Steve’s heart pounded. He worked to keep his eyes locked on the familiar steel blue and away from the lips he wanted nothing more than to kiss. No. He wasn’t going to ruin anything.

“I’m going to get ready for bed,” he said, pulling away.

“Okay.”

Before he could do anything he could regret, Steve dropped Bucky’s hand and left the room.

They’d laid side by side, shoulders brushing, until Bucky quietly asked if he could hold Steve. The answer had barely left Steve’s lips when Bucky’s arms gently snaked around him and pulled him close to his chest. Steve breathed out. Their bodies remembered what it was like to fit together. Years apart meant nothing.

Their fingers were twined beneath Steve’s chin. By the deep, even breath tickling his ear, he gathered Bucky was asleep. Steve hoped he was. Gently moving his hand up, he let his lips brush against Bucky’s fingers. If he could’ve seen Bucky’s face, he would’ve seen a content smile curl on his lips. His arms squeezed Steve tighter. Heart fluttering and happier than he’d been in weeks, he closed his eyes and finally let himself sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky takes Steve somewhere special. Shit gets real

Bright sunlight filtered through the blinds when Steve finally woke up. Bucky still breathed heavily, his arms loosely wrapped around Steve. It was the first night in weeks that Steve hadn’t moved. He let his lips brush against Bucky’s fingers again. They were warm. Steve couldn’t remember the last him he’d been comfortably warm. Ever since being unfrozen, he was always cold.

Bucky shifted slightly, burying his face deeper into Steve’s neck and pulling himself closer. Steve sighed contentedly and settled more deeply into the mattress. If they ended up staying in bed the entire day, he didn’t care. They had no plans, and they needed the sleep.

He was in the place between dreams and reality when he felt eyelashes move on his neck. Bucky stirred, lifting his head slightly.

“Good morning,” Steve murmured.

“What time is it?”

“I don’t know.” Later than the two of them had ever woken up before, based on the light coming through the windows. Even before the war, they’d gotten up early.

Bucky groaned and put his head back in Steve’s neck. “You’re comfortable.” Steve could’ve imagined the words they were so quiet.

_I love you._ That’s all he needed to say. But why ruin this? No. Now wasn’t the time. Eventually, he would tell him, but not now. Not when everything was perfect. Bucky shifted again and Steve took the opportunity to turn so he faced him.

His eyes were glazed with sleep, but the sheen brought by exhaustion was gone. The dark circles still hung under his eyes, but they didn’t appear as deep. Hair tousled, lips chapped, and half asleep, he was no doubt the most beautiful thing Steve had ever seen.

This time, it was Bucky that picked up Steve’s hand and traced his fingers over it. The metal was cool against his skin.

“What do you feel?” Steve asked.

“Warmth.” He screwed up his eyebrows. “If I think about it, I can feel skin, but it’s mainly just pressure.”

“If I do this?” Steve threaded his fingers between Bucky’s.

“It feels good,” Bucky said. “The warmth and the pressure. It makes it feel almost normal.”

Steve swallowed. “Any time you need, you can take it. I mean, only if you want to. If you think it would help.” He wanted to bury his face in his hands and never look back up.

Bucky nodded against the pillow. “Thank you.”

Steve tried to smile. The longer he spent looking at Bucky’s eyes, steel blue and everything that mattered to him, the less he was sure he could refrain from spilling his feelings. He didn’t care that Bucky’s mouth would be foggy from sleep, and his own lips had been cracked for most of his childhood. He wanted to kiss him. Bucky’s tongue wet his lips. His inhibitions fled. He was going to kiss him. On the pretense of getting more comfortable, he moved closer. Head on the very edge of his pillow, their noses almost touched. A deep breath. _Don’t overthink. _

“I have an idea for today,” Bucky said, moving his head back slightly to better look at him.

“Yeah?” Steve fought to keep the giddy relief out of his voice. Kissing Bucky would have most likely sent him spiraling, and it had been a week since he’d required the garden to calm him down. Steve didn’t want to be the reason he lost progress.

“Can I make it a surprise?”

Steve hesitated. He couldn’t remember a time when he’d ever enjoyed a surprise; even when he’d known about them they’d always made him anxious. His mind always wandered, imagining the worst possible scenarios. Most of them involved him getting so overwhelmed he broke. If he didn’t know about them beforehand, the shock would be enough to break him.

No one needed to see him curled in a ball, shivering, not knowing where or when he was.

“I promise it’s nothing bad,” Bucky told him. Steve had told him he hated surprises when they sat on the fire escape one summer night, beer running through their veins. “It’s a place you’ll like. I wanted to take you there before everything happened, but there never really seemed like a good time.

Steve still hesitated. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Bucky. It was himself he couldn’t trust.

“I promise you, nothing will happen.” His eyes were wide and hopeful.

“Okay,” he finally said. The smile that lit up Bucky’s face made everything worth it.

***

Steve was going to be so fucking happy when Bucky finally allowed him to open his eyes. He’d been wanting to take him to the Brooklyn Museum forever. It had just never worked out.

The first time he’d tried had been on Steve’s sixteenth birthday. He’d planned the entire day out. First, they’d have a small lunch in Prospect Park. When finished with all of Steve’s favorites, he’d blindfold him and take him into one of the galleries and watch his mouth drop. After buying Steve a new art pad, he’d saved almost everything he’d had for admission. Bucky had been grabbing the blindfold from his pocket when he felt the rip and no coins.

The second time, he’d shown up at Steve’s to find him nursing a broken rib and a black eye.

The third time, he’d shown up only to find Steve gone. He’d found him walking home, the third denied enlistment concealed beneath his arm. Bucky had been too angry to do anything but sit and make sure Steve didn’t leave his apartment again.

Then, Bucky had left.

He’d wanted to go as soon as they’d moved back to Brooklyn, but there had been obstacles that needed to be overcome. Crowds, mostly. It had taken a while for Bucky to get used to having people surround him. 

Today, nothing was going to go wrong. He’d decided that when staring into Steve’s eyes. When they were full of that much happiness, nothing could go wrong. So nothing was going to stop him from taking Steve to the museum. While he wouldn’t blindfold him, he would make him close his eyes until they reached one of the exhibits. Bucky wanted to see the moment he realized where they were. After everything he’d been forced to take, this was something he could give.

The day was even better than he first expected. He would never be able to give sleep all the credit it deserved. Bucky couldn’t remember the last time he had this much energy. If two nights of restful sleep provided this, what would a week? Steve almost had a bounce in his step. Neither of them moved last night. Maybe them sharing a bed _would_ help. (Bucky wasn’t going to think about how perfectly Steve’s body had fit in his).

Now, walking the few miles that separated their house and the museum, they let content silence fit between them. Their pinky’s were twined. (Bucky wasn’t going to think of how much his pulse had jumped when Steve took his hand, and how glad he was the vibranium couldn’t give him away). He would love nothing more than to fully take his hand, but he knew what that would look like to strangers looking on. They weren’t that. It just helped him feel attached to something. It was harder to float away when there was an anchor holding him down.

Every so often, Steve would look at him and smile. It was the same smile Bucky had fallen in love with before the war. Small, mostly on the right. Due to his hearing loss, that was the side Bucky always stood on. He’d never changed. He’d never seen him give it to someone else. When he realized Bucky smiled back, it spread across his entire face. And then, Steve Rogers skipped.

Bucky stopped walking and stared at him. Steve Rogers was skipping.

“You okay, Stevie?” Bucky asked. He had never seen this kind of behavior before.

Steve waited for Bucky to be next to him again before dropping his head back and sighing. The sun turned his hair to gold. When the sun passed back behind a cloud, he looked back at Bucky. The hint of a smile was still on his lips. “For the first time in a long time, I am.”

It wasn’t long after that that Bucky had Steve close his eyes. All he had to do was ask once; he knew Steve trusted him. His excitement mounted as he guided Steve up the steps.

“Are we there yet?” He tried to sound grumpy, but Bucky could hear the intrigue in his voice.

“Almost, Stevie. Just a minute or two longer.”

It ended up taking five minutes to get through the line to the ticket booth. As the seconds ticked by, he felt Steve tense. Bucky slipped his real hand into his and Steve squeezed tight.

“Only a few more people in front of us, Stevie,” he whispered. Steve gripped his hand tighter and let out a strained breath. Bucky smoothed his thumb over the back of his.

A minute later, Bucky had purchased their tickets and was leading Steve up the stairs to level three. As soon as he decided he was ready, Bucky had memorized the map. He needed to know where the exits were.

As he’d hoped, there weren’t very many people in this part of the exhibition. Once Steve realized where he was, he would think it was a shame. His favorite artist deserved the appreciation of more than just a few people. But Bucky was glad for the change. After being surrounded in the ticket line, he too had been getting jumpy. It had taken all his self-control to stay centered. 

“You ready, Stevie?”

“I’ve been ready for the past twenty minutes.”

Bucky took a deep breath, suddenly nervous. It wasn’t that he thought Steve wouldn’t like it—he knew he would—it was that he thought Steve would think Bucky taking him on a date. It was a stupid fear, but the last thing he wanted to do was make Steve uncomfortable. He took another breath. He’d gotten this far.

He made sure Steve was situated in front of the correct piece. “Okay, you can open your eyes.”

Steve kept his eyes closed. Bucky could see the hitch in his breath. He knew he was mentally preparing himself for disappointment. Bucky’s fingers tapped against his legs. He resisted telling him again. Steve would open them when he was ready.

Another minute passed. Steve took another breath. And then he opened his eyes. Bucky held his breath. Steve blinked. His eyes narrowed as he leaned forward slightly. And then they widened as he realized what he was seeing. He turned to Bucky, an astonished smile just now beginning to turn his lips upward.

“You remembered.” The words were nothing more than a breath.

"You think I’d forget something as important as your favorite piece of art?” Bucky asked. He’d memorized it as soon as he’d known. “I’m insulted.”

Steve turned back to stare at the ink drawing, his eyes hungry as they roved across the thick parchment. They’d been walking along the docks after one of Bucky’s shifts when Steve had seen an advertisement for a free art showing. All it had taken was one look and he’d dragged Bucky all the way to 57th street. They’d only had a few pieces up by the time they’d arrived, but it hadn’t mattered. Steve marched right up to this drawing and had stood in front of it, eyes as hungry as they were now, until the curator had asked them to leave. When they’d walked home, Steve told Bucky that he wanted to be an artist. He’d started that night. Until the war, there had only been a couple days Bucky hadn’t seen him draw.

They hadn’t talked about that day since it happened, but Bucky had never forgotten the expression in his eyes as he’d stared at that drawing. It had taken Bucky until now to locate. Jack Butler Yeats, _A Pub in Devon. _The fact that it happened to be in the museum he’d wanted to take Steve to was an added bonus.

He watched Steve pull himself away from the piece and walk slowly to the middle of the room. He turned slowly, a look of contented awe on his face. Bucky smiled, the anxiety pooling in his chest melting away. He’d done well. It might have taken a while, but they’d finally gotten there. The wait had been worth it.

They stayed in that room for an hour. Time and time again, Steve returned to the drawing, his eyes as wide as the first time he’d seen it. They didn’t speak; they didn’t need to. Bucky let himself enjoy the art as well, but he found himself watching Steve a majority of the time. There had never been anything better than seeing him happy.

It was only when they finally left the exhibit on Yeats that Bucky allowed himself to be a bit more carefree. This was art they were discovering together and Bucky was going to have fun. In one fashion or another, they would leave remembering everything they looked at. Museum map memorized, he led them through the winding corridors to the start of the expressionist exhibit.

“So, what the fuck is that supposed to be?” Bucky asked after a minute of staring at the painting labeled Paul Klee, _Fish Magic_.

Steve cocked his head, his brow furrowed. “Fish.”

“Somehow, I caught onto that.” He cocked his head to see if the new angle gave him a better understanding and caught the tail end of Steve’s grin.

Steve squinted. “It’s a magical realm where the aquatic, the celestial, and the earthly intermingle,” he read from the label.

Bucky continued to stare at the random fish and clock floating on the canvas, switching which side he cocked his head to. “My original question still stands. What the fuck?”

“And to think I could have been an expressionist painter.” Steve sighed and looked at the painting lovingly. “Floating fish all day.”

He fought to keep a straight face and Bucky resisted the strong urge to hit him. After one last look at the painting and a whispered ‘what the fuck’ under his breath that Bucky didn’t think he was meant to hear, Steve walked away to stand in front of another piece. Bucky stared at the fish for a moment longer, shook his head and followed. 

“Should I send this to Coulson?” Steve asked, staring at a painting of a distorted cellist. “Or would that be considered insensitive? I don’t know where the line is between us, considering he admitted to me that he watched me while I was thawing.”

Bucky snorted and moved on.

“What is it about expressionists and nudity?” Bucky asked ten minutes later, standing in front of what seemed like the millionth distorted nude of the afternoon. 

“Are you sure you want to ask the artist that question?”

This time, Bucky did hit him. 

By the time they reached the statues, Bucky was in a weird mood. He hadn’t stayed this consistently happy over an extended period of time since he’d dragged Steve to the Stark Expo. He could still remember the excitement he’d felt when the car had hovered. His smile dropped the smallest amount before he shook his head. He wouldn’t allow himself to think about how Steve had abandoned him on his last night before the war. That decision was the only reason Bucky was alive. It was no use dwelling on. The war was over. Steve wouldn’t leave. His fingers tapped against his leg. Steve wouldn’t leave.

A pinky hooked through his. He looked up.

“You good?” Steve’s eyes softened as he looked at him. Their fathomless blue was the only thing Bucky needed to return to a sense of calm.

He nodded. “I’m happy.”

As he said the words, he realized it was actually true. He _was_ happy. He’d forgotten how good it felt to be able to put aside the dark thoughts that had haunted him every day since he’d broken free of the Winter Soldier. Maybe he was allowed to heal. Maybe that’s what the people he’d killed would want.

“I’m happy,” he repeated, more firmly this time.

Steve fully took his hand. The warm pressure it exuded only increased Bucky’s sense of peace. “So am I. Thank you, for all of this.”

Bucky didn’t trust his voice. He just nodded and hoped Steve understood.

***

Nothing could have prepared Steve for opening his eyes to find the drawing that had started his desire to be an artist. Even if Bucky had told him, a small part of him wouldn’t have allowed himself to believe it until it was in front of him. Even now, he was still in shock that Bucky had managed to find it again after only seeing it once.

The entire day had been everything Steve needed. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so carefree and unequivocally him. Before the war, he supposed. But even then he’d never been carefree. At the present moment, Bucky was mimicking _Girl with a Pearl Earring. _Steve couldn’t help but laugh at the utter ridiculous nature of the moment. And once he started, he couldn’t stop. Bucky grinned and joined in. Steve gasped for breath, his stomach aching and tears in the corners of his eyes. He didn’t know how long it took them to regain their composure and continue on.

It was late afternoon by the time they finally left the museum. Steve felt lighter than he had on their walk there. He knew Dr. Scheinbaum would have him dig into the feeling if he brought it up to her in their next session. She would be disappointed to learn he hadn’t told Bucky everything. But the first step had been harder than he could’ve possibly imagined.

He let the image of Bucky mimicking the painting fill his mind and couldn’t stop himself from rolling his eyes and letting out a single laugh.

“What?” Bucky asked.

Steve shrugged, a smile tugging at his lips. “I can’t remember the last time I laughed before today—I mean, really laughed. I know I must have, but…” he shrugged again. “It felt good.”

“It felt like normal,” Bucky said. “Most nights we’d found something that brought us to tears.”

“My ma would come to see if we were okay. I think,” Steve frowned, “I think I scared her when I laughed so hard I couldn’t breathe.”

“Sarah was happy when you were.”

They walked in silence for a while. The wind picked up slightly. Despite it being early summer, he shivered and absentmindedly rubbed his hands over the goosebumps that erupted on his arms. He’d put his ma through a lot. Every fight he’d started came with guilt. For a while, he’d thought of every bruise as a manifestation of it. He’d seen the relief wash over her face every time Bucky brought him home, banged up but otherwise okay.

He was supposed to have been asleep when he overheard her talking to him. Quietly as he could, he’d slipped out of bed and watched from the crack of the door. Bucky had just set a cup of tea in front of her.

“You’re good for him,” she had said. “I’ve never seen him as happy as when he’s with you. I worry when he’s all alone; you know how he is—thinks he needs to fight everything that moves. I think it’s because he’s so small—he thinks he needs to prove to others that he deserves to live just as much as they do.”

He’d crept back into bed when she’d taken a sip of tea. The creaking of the mattress had obscured Bucky’s reply. When the door opened, he’d kept his eyes shut tight. He still didn’t know which one of them had watched over him that night.

A pinky slipped through his. Steve blinked, reorienting himself in the present. It was 2016. He didn’t have to fight anymore.

“Hey, Buck?”

Bucky turned to look at him.

“Thank you.”

“For?”

“For never doubting that I deserved to live just as much as everyone else.”

Bucky squeezed his hand. Without knowing how, Steve knew it had been him that watched over him until he’d fallen asleep.

They were both quiet that night. After dinner, Bucky went into the garden and sat among his plants. When enough time passed, Steve joined him with his sketchbook and pencils. The sun had just begun to set. He let the pencil rest against the pad.

Everyone had laughed when he’d told them he wanted to be an artist. But they’d laughed at everything he’d wanted to become. By their standards, he shouldn’t’ve existed. He’d been fourteen when the International Eugenics Conference asserted he hadn’t been worth anything to society. The day it began, he’d come home with a broken rib and black eye. Bucky hadn’t been there to pull him out. He didn’t tell him the reason of the fight when his tirade finally ended. Bucky knew—he always knew.

Steve watched him now. His hair was tied back into a small pony. A black t-shirt exposed most of his arms. His hands worked in the dirt, pulling small weeds with practiced flicks of his wrist. The pencil worked across the page, forming the curve of Bucky’s palm. He caressed a flower, bringing it close to his face to inhale the scent. Gentle fingers appeared in graphite. 

Steve leaned closer to the pad, carefully crafting the palm lines he’d come to know so well. The scars came next. Those he was still learning. Sometimes, he thought it would be easier to memorize the patches of skin that were left unmarked.

They still didn’t say anything when they got ready for bed. Steve hesitated at Bucky’s door, not sure if he was allowed in. Bucky sat with his back to him, cactus in hand. He was talking quietly to it. Steve raised his hand to knock before letting it fall back to his side and returning to his room. He could sleep on his own. He _needed_ to be able to sleep on his own. His hand shook as he turned off the light.

When he jolted awake, trembling from the latest iteration of his nightmare, Bucky’s arms were around him. He remembered begging, pleading to not have to work the chair. He could still feel the control in his hands. He could still remember the cold fascination that undercut his terror. He hadn’t been able to see his own transformation. The transition from weak and emotional to the perfect weapon was beautiful. Behind him, Bucky shifted, unconsciously drawing Steve closer. His agonized screams faded into the general noises of the borough. Steve lay awake, listening to Bucky’s soft, even breathing, until his own breath had calmed. When he finally fell asleep again, he didn’t dream. 

They went on that way for a week. In the mornings, Steve woke up alone, his Bucky Bear tucked under his chin. Half of the time, he didn’t know if Bucky’s arms around him were a figment of his imagination. He didn’t ask. Bucky never brought it up.

Steve rolled over, feeling the empty space next to him. The sheets were still warm. He let his fingers trail over the wrinkles before pushing himself out of bed. It was still early; dawn had barely spilled over the horizon. Pulling on a worn sweatshirt, he went into the kitchen.

Bucky sat in the garden. Steve almost joined him, wanting to feel the cool morning, but stopped himself. Evenings were the only times he was allowed. It was an unspoken rule he would never break. Checking on him every so often, Steve put on the coffee and started a pot of oatmeal. He’d just pulled it off the stove and stirred a glob of peanut butter and honey into his bowl when Bucky joined him. 

“Morning,” he said quietly, hoping to catch Bucky’s eye. 

Bucky grabbed his bowl and poured the remaining oatmeal, saying nothing. When he finished eating, he returned outside, leaving Steve alone. It was the pattern they’d followed since the museum. Something had changed between them. They talked and laughed, but it felt guarded. Careful. Anyone looking on wouldn’t see anything wrong between them. And there wasn’t, not really. He shouldn’t read into the fact that Bucky hadn’t hooked his pinky through his when Steve hadn’t tried to reach out.

It was as if an unspoken barrier had been constructed between them. He knew he’d acted boldly their first morning after sharing a bed. But there had been something between them—he knew there had been. And everything had seemed so normal in the museum. Things had finally seemed right again. 

It was scary. After being on uneven footing for so long, it felt almost wrong to have stability. What had he done to deserve it? By all means, he shouldn’t be alive. He never should’ve made it past childhood. That had been made perfectly clear. He’d never told Bucky he’d mostly fought to prove to himself that he deserved to live. Others had nothing to do with it.

Steve stared into his bowl of oatmeal, forcing himself to take a bite. He hadn’t allowed himself to really think about his childhood in years. Ten years was how long he’d had this body. There were days when he woke up expecting his real body. That was how he thought of it sometimes; that this body, capable and strong, wasn’t his. It had been luck that gave it to him. He hadn’t been able to stare at Bucky all awash in happiness at the Stark Expo knowing the next day he’d be gone—it had hurt too much. So he’d left, knowing Bucky would find him. And they’d fight, but at least it would be normal. It would just be the two of them, like it should be.

It hadn’t been easy, but he’d known Bucky would always be there. He wasn’t sure about anything now. Not really. He’d seen too much. His fingers ached where he picked at them, but he barely noticed.

It took him too long to realize that his phone was buzzing. When he finally moved to pick it up, he had a missed call and a message. The bowl of oatmeal was empty, though he didn’t remember eating. His coffee sat cold and untouched next to him. Mind still clouded, it took him three tries to understand the voicemail.

***

Bucky knew he was being stupid. How hard would it be to give into what he wanted and allow himself to be happy? But the thought scared him. He’d known he was happy at the museum. And for a moment, he’d let himself believe he was worthy of it. It had been a foolish thing to do. Guilt crawled through him, staining his hands. He dug his fingers into the dirt around the lilac.

The name flickered on the edge of his memory, but no matter how he strained, it remained out of reach. There were snatches of laughter. An imprint of a hug. Blue eyes like his. Her face wavered. The name stayed away. But it was important, he knew it was.

There was Sarah beside it. The lavender swayed quietly in the sweet wind. He saw her angelic smile as she thanked him for taking care of Steve. That had been one of the happiest days he could remember. He turned back to the lilac. He remembered gentle words at the sight of a scraped knee. His fingers gripped the rich dirt. Worms and tiny insects tickled his skin. 

Turmoil knotted his stomach. Salty blood erupted on his tongue. He sucked in his bottom lip, feeling the ravaged skin. He heard a kind voice. He knew her. Why couldn’t he remember? His nails left crescents in his palm. The worst part was he knew the name. It was there, just out of reach. Tantalizing him. Mocking him.

Let go and it’ll come. That’s what Steve would tell him. But Steve didn’t know what it was like to know something and not be able to voice it. It was there. He tore his hands out of the dirt and slammed them down, earth spraying.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck, you goddamn fucking useless excuse for a person. How are you supposed to take care of anything when you can’t even remember the names of flowers? _

It was the first time he’d forgotten them. 

The night of the museum, Steve had cried in his sleep. It had taken him less than a minute to be at his side. Steve had pleaded before his face turned to stone. Bucky hadn’t been able to wake him, so instead he’d slipped behind him and held him close, ensuring he wouldn’t hurt himself if he struck out. Protecting Steve Rogers was his job. It was an instinct as deeply engrained in him as the words had been in the Soldier. 

He remembered that, but he couldn’t remember the names of flowers.

_Useless._

He’d meant to stay awake the entire night and watch over him, but the sense of calm he felt when next to Steve mixed with his own exhaustion made it impossible to stay awake. Instead, he’d woken early and sat in the garden. It had been the last thing he’d wanted to do but his self-imposed punishment needed to be reinstated.

_You know the name. _

His feelings for Steve scared him. Peace and happiness hadn’t been in his vocabulary for most of his life. He’d been the harbinger of the opposite. So why should he experience them? He didn’t understand why he should deserve something as good as Steve with everything he’d done. He struggled to understand why Steve even wanted to be around him; he deserved better. 

So now he kept his distance when he could. It gave him time to think. Steve never said anything. But now, Bucky wondered if he just forgot. 

"Hey, Buck?”

“Yeah?” He wiped dirt away from his face and turned to look. Steve stood at the door, his phone in his hand. He hated how easy it was to put on a mask and pretend he was okay.

“I just got a call from Warrior K9. I told them we could do the interview this afternoon, that okay with you?”

Bucky nodded. “I have no plans.”

“Great.” Steve bit his lip and hesitated as if he was chewing on words. He opened his mouth and closed it, nodded once and shut the door. Bucky put his face in his hands and sighed.

He felt strangely calm sitting in front of the computer. He’d already convinced himself they wouldn’t give him a dog, so what was there to be nervous about? Steve, on the other hand, was as jittery as Bucky had ever seen him. He picked at his fingers, staring unseeingly at the screen. Bucky covered his hand. Steve blinked, awareness returning to his eyes.

He turned to look at Bucky, dropping his gaze to look at their conjoined hands. Bucky swallowed when Steve looked back up. There was an expression in his eyes he couldn’t quite decipher. Steve opened his mouth, but again stayed silent. Bucky took a deep breath. This was the longest he’d maintained eye contact since the museum. 

They both jumped when the computer rang. Bucky took his hand back, making sure the sleeve of his sweatshirt covered the entirety of his arm. He didn’t know why he cared so much when he knew they wouldn’t trust him, and he’d already told them what to expect in his application, but it made him feel better knowing they couldn’t see it. Without it, he looked almost normal.

A middle-aged woman wearing a comfortable looking pantsuit filled the screen. Bucky heard the barking of dogs in the background and the voice of a man working to quiet them. A look of astonishment flickered across her face as she took them in. It vanished as quickly as it appeared. Regardless of what she’d read on the application, Bucky assumed she hadn’t truly expected to be meeting with Captain America and the Winter Soldier.

“Mr. Rogers and Mr. Barnes, it’s so lovely to meet you. My name is Colette Mitchell. I’m co-chair of Warrior K9 and work closely with our applicants to pair you with your dog.” Her voice had a soothing, almost melodic lilt to it.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Steve said.

Bucky nodded his agreement. She looked kind. Someone Bucky would’ve trusted automatically before everything happened.

Colette smiled. “Normally, I wouldn’t agree to do interviews at the same time, but given the circumstance, I think it would be good to know how you both expect our dogs to assist you.”

Steve chuckled, drawing a hand across his face. “Do you often have hundred-year-old super soldiers apply for service dogs?”

Colette’s smile widened. “You would be our first. But I was actually referring to you living with each other. We don’t often have two applicants in the same household. Not that there’s anything wrong with it, it just makes things a little more complicated on my end.”

Bucky saw Steve nod. Colette shuffled some pages in front of her and picked up a pen. “Would you be able to give me a sense of your day? How much do the two of you interact on both good and bad days and what is that interaction like?”

The name branded itself on his brain. Hot shame prickled his skin. Winifred. How could he have forgotten the name of his ma? How could he remember Sarah but forget his ma? He tried to ignore the snide whispers of his brain, but for so long, they’d been all he had. _You value Steve over yourself._ He bit his lip, tasting blood again.

That had nothing to do with his ma.

“And how do you envision a dog assisting you with this routine?”

Bucky barely heard Steve as he talked about his nightmares and dissociation. The fan on the computer grew louder as it worked to keep the machine from overheating. His fist clenched. If he could forget something as essential to him as his family, what could he hope to remember?

“Mr. Barnes?”

Bucky blinked, the screen coming back into focus. Colette looked at him expectantly.

“I’m sorry, can you repeat the question?”

“How do you envision your dog assisting you in your daily routine?”

Bucky sat silently for a moment. He hadn’t really let himself think about it. Doing so would have raised his hopes. Steve brushed a hand over his and he blinked again.

“Um, I have difficulty with remembering a lot of things and staying in the moment,” Bucky said, hoping she wouldn’t ask for any deeper clarification. “I know Steve isn’t always going to be there to bring me back to the present. Just a nudge or a warning when I’m about to dissociate would be helpful.” It sounded flat when he said it. These should be things he could handle himself. He shouldn’t need help remembering what day it was. 

Colette made a few notes on the sheet in front of her. “I remember you mentioning you also suffer from panic attacks and nightmares?”

Bucky forced himself to nod.

“Have you ever reacted violently in response to them?”

Bucky blinked. “I don’t know,” he admitted quietly. If he’d ever hurt Steve when he attempted to wake him, Steve never told him.

“Do you envision it could happen?”

Bucky nodded. Colette made another note.

“Was there a reason you didn’t name a therapist on your application, Mr. Barnes?” Bucky knew she tried to ask the question as gently as possible, but it still felt like a punch in the gut.

Bucky flinched away from the onslaught of fractured memories. “The last time a therapist spoke to me, three people died. He reconditioned me.” He didn’t miss her look of alarm and the scratching of her pen. “It’s not possible now,” he continued. Her pen didn’t stop moving. “If it was, I wouldn’t be here. The words should be out of my head.” God, he hoped they were. “I just I can’t bring myself to trust them right now.”

If he’d had a chance at getting a dog, he knew he just blew it. Even if the words were out of his head, he didn’t know how he would react to hearing them. He couldn’t expect that they wouldn’t still have a lingering affect. 

Bucky barely heard her murmured _I’m sorry._ She cleared her throat. “Normally we would want you have a therapist, but with your circumstance, I’ll waive the requirement. Your comfort and stability is what we really care about. If you can, that would be wonderful, but I trust you to know when you’re ready.”

“Thank you.” A small weight lifted from his shoulders.

She turned her attention away from him, looking back at her notes again. “Steve, before we can continue with placement for you, I’m required by law to secure a letter from your therapist stating you no longer have suicidal ideations.”

Bucky’s fist clenched again. Steve dropped his head. He’d never told him that. Bucky saw Colette look between them and watched understanding darken her eyes.

“I see this is a conversation the two of you need to have. And until you do, I’m afraid I don’t feel comfortable placing either of you on the list yet. We want our dogs to be in as stable a household as possible. I realize with the levels of trauma our veterans face it’s not entirely possible, but anything we can account for we will. Have this conversation, talk to your therapist and then we’ll speak again. I want to be able to help you so I’ll keep your files activated, but there’s nothing I can do for you now.”

Bucky watched Steve nod, his head still down. He was too furious to speak.

“I wish you the best Mr. Rogers, Mr. Barnes. You know how to reach me. Until then.”

And with nothing else, her picture disappeared, leaving nothing but the image of Steve with tears in his eyes and Bucky sitting at a loss displayed in the dimming screen.

“Steve.” He reached out a hand, but before he could connect, Steve pushed his chair away from the counter and exited the house. Bucky heard the roar of his motorcycle and then there was silence.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> : )  
Soft warning for self-harm

“You’re beginning to worry me, Steve.” Dr. Scheinbaum sat with her legs crossed. Her leather bound portfolio was spread on the coffee table that separated them.

Steve sat on the couch, hunched over. The corners of his thumb nails bled from where he picked at them. “Did you know that I don’t know how to respond when people ask me how old I am?”

“That’s understandable,” she said.

“Is it?” Steve asked, lifting his head. “Do you know what it’s like to look in the mirror every morning and not understand how you’re still alive?”

Dr. Scheinbaum’s eyes darkened with sadness. “Are you ready to talk about it?”

“No.” His stomach twisted. When he’d woken up after the ice, he’d sworn he would never tell anyone the real reason he’d crashed the plane. He didn’t think there was anyone left who’d care. Now, it churned in his stomach each time he looked at Bucky. “But I need to.”

She grabbed her portfolio and uncapped her pen. “What was really going through your mind when you put the plane in the water, Steve?”

He closed his eyes. _Freezing water lapped at his feet. Metal creaked around him. Every time he moved, the plane shifted. He gripped the compass with white knuckles. Even if he wanted to live, it was too late. The water crept higher._

“Steve?”

He opened his eyes and stared unseeingly at the ground. “I-” he bit his lip. “The night I lost Bucky, I sat in the bombed remains of an old bar. It was one we’d drank at together before I asked everyone to risk their lives to fight the organization that tortured them for weeks. All I wanted was to get drunk, to numb myself for even a little bit. I can’t tell you how many bottles I had, but I know it would’ve been enough to kill an ordinary man. With each bottle I thought about how if I’d just been a little faster, the train wouldn’t’ve been damaged. If I’d been a just a little faster, I could’ve saved him. He’d saved me my entire life, and the one time I could’ve returned the favor, I failed.”

Dr. Scheinbaum said something, but Steve was so lost in the memories he’d repressed for so long he didn’t hear her.

“Peggy did what she could to help. She tried to convince me it wasn’t my fault. I tried to believe it for her sake, but the moment I lost Bucky, it was like I lost a part of myself. I was angry. Hollow. There was no one left to pull me out of the fight, but I couldn’t see a reason for me to get out. I couldn’t be what Peggy needed me to be. So I put myself in the thickest fire so my men didn’t have to. I didn’t need anyone else dying for me.

“When the Red Skull was finally gone, I had nothing left. I’d been created in the face of war—it was all I had known. Without him, there wasn’t a fight for me to lose myself in. When I saw the expanse of ice, I felt nothing but relief. The numbness that had grown inside of me in the time since Bucky’s death terrified me. I was a symbol of hope for America. Kids looked up to me. I was someone they were encouraged to emulate, though if their parent’s knew me at all, I think they’d be appalled at their role model. I couldn’t let children see someone who they believed to be invincible falling apart. The _Valkyrie_ gave me the perfect excuse. Steering had been broken during the fight. The plane had to be manually directed.

"Peggy gave me the strength I needed to actually do it. I’d decided before making the call, but I needed her to think I’d fought until the very end; she needed to believe I hadn’t given up. But before I hit the ice, all I was thinking about was Bucky. I don’t know if there’s an afterlife, but if there is, I’d be with him again. And even if there isn’t, I wouldn’t have to live in world without him. And the beauty of the situation was that no one needed to know that I’d willingly chosen my death.”

He swallowed, still staring at the carpet. It was the first time he noticed it was patterned with small squares and flecks of color. He realized it matched the carpet in the children’s ward at the hospital. One of the kid’s he’d visited had told him the pattern reminded her of space.

“When I woke up, I was angry. I stared into the mirror and I had no idea who stared back at me. I wasn’t supposed to live. I was never supposed to be the one who lived. Without any preamble, I was shoved into this new world and expected to adapt. They gave me files informing me that almost everyone I knew was dead. Peggy was still alive, but how could I see her after everything I’d done? For me, less than a week had passed since I crashed.

“The days before Fury approached me in regards to the Tesseract, I was low. I tried to distract myself, tried drawing, tried walking the city that I’d grown up in, but so much had changed. I couldn’t sleep. Barely ate. Half the time, I couldn’t remember what year it was.”

He stared at a purple square now.

“It was better when I had a mission. I had something to focus on, but even then I thought about being careless. Die a hero without letting anyone know it was purposeful. It would’ve been easy. But I couldn’t do it—I’ve never valued my life enough to call it bravery. Instead, I just threw myself into the heaviest fire possible so others didn’t have to. I never actively tried to kill myself, but I never actively tried to save myself either. Half the time I didn’t know what the point of it was: did I want to simple stay alive, or did I actually desire to live?

“Meeting Nat and Sam helped. They tried to keep me busy, get me more at ease with the new world. I sat in on some sessions Sam ran at the VA. It was nice to know I wasn’t alone in feeling the way I did. Occasionally, I would just sit in their homes while they went about their routines and tried to remember what it was like to really live. There were some days were I could almost forget the numbness.

“When I saw that Bucky was still alive, everything changed. I could feel again. That piece of me that died was shoved back. It might have been mangled and broken, but I was whole again. I had something to fight for again. I had someone to pull me back out.”

He didn’t realize he’d wrapped the blanket around himself until he finished talking. His fingers ached. Blood crusted on his nails.

“How has your daily routine been since?” she asked. “Have you ever had moments when you wish you’d succeeded and hadn’t woken up?”

Steve finally lifted his gaze from his mangled fingers and met her gaze. “Bucky and I went to the art museum the other day. I laughed, really laughed, for the first time since the war. Life is finally good again. For the first time, I haven’t defined myself by the physical fight. It’s nice. If I’d succeeded, I wouldn’t’ve known what it was like to be truly happy.”

“And are you truly happy?”

He slumped forward. “I want to be. I guess I’ve never really known what it’s like to be happy.”

“What about when you were a child? You’ve recounted what appear to be happy memories to me from before the war. Why are you discounting those?”

He looked back up, catching her piercing gaze. “Everything was so different back then.”

“Was it?”

“I had to fight every day just to prove I deserved to live. Every day, I passed people who just stared at me. They never said anything, but I knew what they were thinking. Everybody knew. I was that one sick kid who was a waste of space and resources. Top that with the fact that I’ve been in love with Bucky for as long as I can remember. My entire childhood was framed by eugenics and the idea that homosexuality created _evolutionary degeneracy_. I wasn’t allowed to live because I was sick and I wasn’t allowed to live because of who I loved. I lived the first twenty years of my life angry and terrified that every day would be my last. Sure, I was a good person, but that was never what people saw.”

“And yet, you never backed away from a fight, why?” 

“If I didn’t fight back, I would’ve died giving up.”

She leaned forward. “So why was crashing the plane different?”

Steve’s hands began to shake. His thumbs began to bleed again. He pulled the blanket tighter around him. “I-”

“How much of it really was because Bucky was gone? How much of it was because you’d been taught to hate yourself?”

It took him a long time to answer. When he finally did, he barely recognized the broken voice to be his. “I don’t know.”

“Think about it,” she said. “When you decide your answer, I’ll sign your letter. I don’t think you’re a danger to yourself or others, but I want you to know. I think it’ll help you learn to heal. Who are you mad at—others or yourself?”

It took Steve a long time to pick himself off the couch, and when he did, he felt all the hundred years his body had endured. He was completely numb. The office flickered in and out of his awareness. He saw her worried look.

“Do you want me to call someone for you?” she asked.

“I’m okay,” he said. “I’m just going to sit outside for a little bit.”

He reached the door when she called out again. “Steve? I’m proud of you and how far you’ve come. I have faith in you, I want you to have faith in yourself.”

He turned back to look to her, but was too tired to fake a smile.

***

Bucky looked up when he heard the door open. He’d fooled himself into thinking he’d be able to read while waiting for Steve to get home from therapy. It had worked as a distraction at first, but the longer he was alone, the more each sound in the neighborhood had him looking towards the door. It hadn’t taken long for his thoughts to spiral. They needed to talk about what had been divulged yesterday. Bucky didn’t need to know the details. He just needed to know if Steve was safe.

The door closed. A long sigh accompanied the sound of shoes being kicked off. He only saw the back of his head before the door to his room was shut. Bucky’s stomach clenched as his heart dropped. Pushing himself off the couch, he walked quickly to Steve’s room, preparing to barge in and demand answers. He froze. Even with the door closed, he could hear the sobs. Bucky didn’t hesitate before knocking and letting himself in.

It took everything he had not to crumple at the sight of Steve, curled tightly on his bed with heavy sobs shaking his entire frame. A blanket haphazardly covered his torso. Every other thought fled his mind. As gently as he could, Bucky sat on the bed and pulled Steve against his chest. 

“Don’t want,” Steve choked out.

Bucky ignored him, continuing to situate themselves more comfortably on the bed. Steve took fistfuls of his shirt as if they were a lifeline. After pulling the blanket over him, Bucky draped his left arm over his shoulders and rubbed his back. His right hand ran through Steve’s hair and gently massaged his neck. 

He didn’t know how long they sat there. At one point, Bucky had started to murmur quietly like when they’d been kids. This time, he whispered the story of the heroic knight Steve saving an entire village from a fire breathing dragon. It had been Steve’s favorite as a kid. He continued long after his tears had subsided. When silence once again filled the room, it was Steve who moved first, unwinding his hands from Bucky’s shirt. His head lifted slowly from his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“Shut up,” Bucky said. He wasn’t going to hear Steve apologize for crying. Hell would be easy compared to what they’d faced.

He leaned his head against Bucky’s shoulder again. “I think I just want to go to bed.” The words were so quiet Bucky almost didn’t hear them.

Bucky nodded and made to extricate himself from the bed. Steve grabbed his hand.

“Will you stay?” The pained and frightened expression in his eyes broke Bucky’s heart. Not trusting his voice, Bucky nodded. 

Steve curled himself under his heavy comforter slowly, as if any quick movement would shatter him. Bucky situated himself behind him, draping an arm around him to hold him close. Almost at once, Steve’s breathing eased. It didn’t take long for it to deepen into sleep. Carefully pulling himself away, Bucky left the bed and tucked the covers loosely back around him. Steve frowned and stirred restlessly. Bucky slipped the Bucky Bear under his chin. It was immediately hugged close.

Not wanting to leave yet, Bucky sat on the edge of the bed. Curled tightly in on himself with the ears of the bear tucked beneath his chin, Steve looked so small. If Bucky hadn’t known the year, he could’ve convinced himself he still was. Things hadn’t been easy, but they’d been happy enough. He smoothed back his hair and kissed his forehead. It was something he’d always done when he burned with fever. Sometimes he had the idea that it helped him get better. But really, it was so if Steve hadn’t woken up he’d at least have kissed him once.

The knowledge that he’d almost lost Steve for good crashed over him. He needed air. With one last look at Steve, Bucky stood and left the room, gently closing the door behind him.

It was the first time sitting in his garden didn’t give him the comfort he needed it to. None of his plants needed tending to. Talking to them would simply bring him back to the topic he wanted to avoid. He didn’t know the situation. It scared him, but he needed to wait for Steve to talk to him.

Needing to do something with his hands, Bucky went into the kitchen and started pulling the ingredients for Coq Au Vin. Steve had expressed interest in the complicated French stew the night before they’d gone to the store. After the conclusion of their interview, Bucky had gotten to work on marinating the chicken. Complicated had been what he’d needed.

With quiet music filling the kitchen, he set to work. His mind stayed on task through the duration of chopping the vegetables, but the deeper he got into the recipe, the more it wandered. By the time he pulled the Dutch oven off the stove to cool, his anger had grown. He’d always known Steve had difficulty with the concept of self-preservation, but this was low, even for him. When they actually talked, Bucky was going to make that very clear.

His hands shook as he dried the knife. The handle was comfortable in his hand. It was bigger than what he was used to carrying, but the size wouldn’t have bothered him. He preferred it when they were larger—it took more control. A small part of him had always thought his handlers would be proud at the mastery he’d exhibited with his weapons. They hadn’t. All they’d cared about was his success. It didn’t matter how he gained it.

He spun the knife, watching the blade glint coldly in the light. It had quickly become his favorite weapon. No matter how much training his mission had, they’d proven to be simply human under it. It had proven _he_ was still human. As if in a trance, he pressed the tip of his pointer finger against the blade, watching a bead a blood drip down towards his palm. The pain of it meant nothing. It was the blood itself he was interested in. Blood meant he was more than just a machine. When he realized what he was doing, he flung the knife in the sink and cleaned his finger.

Still shaking, he hastily scribbled a note telling Steve he was going on a walk and stuck in his headphones. Music at full blast, he walked until night had fallen. There was a reason he hadn’t let himself carry a knife, even though it made him feel safer. Despite everything he’d done to safeguard himself, he’d never be able to forget the callous fascination the Winter Soldier had felt in watching it make people bleed.

There were no signs of life in the house when he returned. His note was where he’d left it. The stew hadn’t been touched. When he walked down the hallway, there was darkness in Steve’s room. Panic flooded him. Quietly letting himself in, he sat on the edge of Steve’s bed and watched him sleep. It was only when he couldn’t stand the suffocating silence that he left, keeping the door open. Heart pounding and mind blank, he went into his room and tried without success to fall asleep.

***

Dawn hadn’t yet broken when Steve woke. Grit from sleep itched in his eyes. The ears of his Bucky Bear tickled his chin. He knew Bucky had placed it there to make up for him leaving. It was the only reason he knew he’d been there.

The entirety of yesterday was a blur. He barely remembered the drive home. When he tried to recall anything else, all he remembered was feeling empty. At one point, there’d been warmth and soft speech. Bucky. He tried to remember the story, but couldn’t. All that had mattered was that he’d been there.

His exhaustion numbed him. Actually facing his destructive actions had left him drained beyond anything he’d felt before. Losing Bucky had left him angry. This was just a blind numbness. He knew it would take him a while before he could consider himself okay again.

The thought of Bucky watching him crumble left him with hot fear churning in his stomach. They needed to talk. Steve needed to tell him how he felt. He needed to tell him what had happened with the _Valkyrie_. There was no way around it. It was no longer fair to either of them. The longer he kept it to himself, the worse it would be when he finally gathered the courage to bring it up. And he knew if it was the other way around, if it had been Bucky that had tried to end his life, Steve wouldn’t have been able to think of anything else. He would have lived his days in fear until they’d talked. Bucky didn’t need the fear of Steve’s self-destructive tendencies to weigh him down while he also tried to heal.

The warm comfort of his bed enticed him, but he was wide awake. The anxiety crawling through him wired his body, refusing to allow him to relax enough to return to sleep. Warm blood caked his pointer finger when it picked open a scab on his thumb. He knew this anxiety enough to know it could only be cured by facing his demons. Going against everything he wished he could do, he got out of bed, pulled on an oversized sweatshirt, and headed for the kitchen. Maybe he’d make pancakes. It was one of the only things Bucky allowed him to make. They could talk over breakfast. Food always helped.

He barely saw Bucky sitting in the shadows before he had to dodge the knife thrown at him. It embedded itself deep in the wall in the exact place his head had been only moments ago. 

“What the hell, Buck?”

“I don’t see why it matters if it hit you when you don’t seem to care if you live or die.” There was nothing but callousness in Bucky’s voice.

“Can we just talk about this?”

“Oh, so you’re not denying that you tried to kill yourself?” Bucky finally stood, moving so he stood in a patch of moonlight. His eyes were flat. He flipped another smaller knife between his fingers.

“Bucky.” Steve tried not to let his fear permeate his voice. He hadn’t seen a trace of the Winter Soldier in over a month. “I-”

"Do you what I spent all of last night thinking about? I spent our entire childhood pulling your ass out of every single fight you found yourself in. Were you trying to get yourself killed even then?”

Steve raised his hands and took a step forward. The knife stilled momentarily. “No.”

"So what changed?” The knife flipped between his fingers again. “Hmm? What made you go from needing to prove you were a fucking hero to trying to kill yourself?”

Steve fought to take a deep breath. This wasn’t just the Winter Soldier. This was James Buchannan Barnes inhabiting the Winter Soldier. The cold, impassive mask of the machine with the rage and betrayal of the human. It was by far the worst thing Steve had ever been forced to face. This was created by him.

The words caught in his throat, but it didn’t matter.

Bucky’s voice grew louder and darker. “What changed Steve? What drove you to crashing the plane? And don’t give me some fucking bullshit answer about there not being enough time. I read the reports. If you’d really wanted to, you could’ve found a solution in which you’d have lived.”

The air was too thick to breathe. Water froze his feet and lapped up his legs. Bucky’s glare sharpened. The knife glinted in the moonlight.

“Hmm?”

The simple sound, so human in its expression, broke him. “I watched you die,” he whispered.

“Why should that matter?”

“Because I love you,” Steve yelled.

Bucky’s eyes remained emotionless. “You’ve got a funny way of showing it.” The knife returned to its sheath on his thigh. A second later, he’d detached his arm and shoved it in Steve’s hands. “Since you love holding it so goddamn much, why don’t you just have it?”

Steve was too shocked to say anything. Bucky whirled around and stalked out into the garden, slamming the back door with enough force for it to open once again.

It took Steve five minutes to be able to move. When he could, his body was wound so tightly he felt like he was going to break. He looked at the arm in his hands. His fingers trembled as they brushed over the vibranium. He’d fucked up. That had been the worst possible way for him to tell Bucky he loved him. But having said it, he realized how much it had been pressing on him. It was out in the air. They would deal with it when they could.

He didn’t realize he was crying until a tear splashed onto the cold metal. And then he realized he was crying because he was scared. In all the times Bucky told him about his Winter Soldier mode, Steve thought he understood. He saw him motionless and rigid in the backyard and knew to keep his distance for a while. He naively hoped that was it. He couldn’t have been more wrong. It wasn’t a switch anymore. The Bucky he’d known in childhood wasn’t the man he lived with. After knowing that Bucky inside and out, that thought terrified him.

Not knowing what else to do, Steve carefully set the arm down and went to work on repairing the wall. 

***

Bucky sat in the exact center of the garden. He’d measured it as soon as they’d bought the house. Knowing everything about a space gave him control. As the Soldier, it was the only thing he’d been able to control. That bit, as insubstantial as it had been, meant everything.

Inexplicable and painful as it was, Bucky almost appreciated the moments the Soldier won control of his mind. Almost. Brief as it was, it gave him a reprieve from thinking. He didn’t have to feel whatever this feeling of shame and, and _something_ was. He just was. Right hand on the handle of his knife, he stared past the brightening horizon.

What he hated was how every single sound and movement set him on edge. The squirrels chattering high overhead in the pine were unbearably loud. His damaged shoulder burned in the light breeze. The Winter Soldier wasn’t created for domestic settings. Bucky moved his hand from the knife and buried it into the grass. Something small crawled over his fingers. He closed his eyes and repressed the urge to grind it into the dirt, forcing himself to remain still until he could no longer feel it. He relaxed only slightly.

The Soldier had never been allowed to relax. Relaxation meant he wasn’t prepared. Not being prepared brought pain.

When he finally opened his eyes again, weak sun spilled long shadows over the backyard. Awareness scratched at the edge of his mind. It was the worst part, coming back from feeling nothing. Shame itched beneath his skin. Hatred boiled in his stomach. Once he could feel again, nothing could stop him from seeing the fear in Steve’s eyes. His nails bit into his palms. He’d created that.

The crunching of grass screamed in his oversensitive ears. In one fluid movement, he unsheathed the knife and straddled the intruder, pressing the blade against their throat. Even one-armed, it would take little effort to kill them. He could finish the mission. Mind mercifully blank again, he watched as a bead of blood appeared.

“Bucky.”

Recognition flooded him. He flung himself back, landing heavily on his shoulder. Pain lanced through his entire body. He let out a stream of expletives the Soldier would have never had the creativity to create. Despite the severity of the situation, Steve laughed. The unexpected cackle eased Bucky slightly.

“The hell are you doing out here, Steve?” He pushed himself up, wincing when the movement sent another wave of pain through his shoulder. He hissed through the discomfort.

The laughter in Steve’s voice was gone. “I was going to take care of the knife in the wall, but I couldn’t bring myself to take it out. I couldn’t allow myself to let it be swept under the rug. So here I am, at the expense of my personal safety, because we need to talk.”

“Not now, Steve.” Bucky closed his eyes, working to keep control.

“Yes, now. I never wanted to talk after you dragged me out of fights, but you never gave me a choice. So I’m not giving you a choice. I’m done keeping this from you.”

He met Steve’s eyes. The stoicism and pain reflected in them ashamed Bucky. He had no right to have acted the way he did when Steve was the one who was hurting. When he couldn’t face the expression any longer, he dropped his gaze, catching sight of the dried blood on his throat.

“You shouldn’t want to be next to me,” he whispered. 

“Buck, I was going to let you shoot me when I first realized it was you under the mask. When are you going to realize I’m here for the long haul?” 

“I’ve nearly killed you twice this morning.”

Steve gently touched his chin, forcing him to meet his gaze. “You didn’t.”

“You were the mission I didn’t complete.” Bucky turned his head away and Steve let him. “I’m-” he broke off, not knowing what he was trying to say.

“You’re recovering,” Steve said gently. “So am I.”

He took a deep breath, picking at his nails. Bucky saw the ravaged skin and his heart broke. How hadn’t he noticed? He’d been so consumed with his own need to punish himself that he hadn’t noticed how much Steve was hurting. He wanted to put his hand over his to stop him from pulling away the scabs, but he couldn’t move. He couldn’t do anything that would shatter whatever this was.

They were perfectly reflected in this moment. In the long shadows of the rising sun, they finally allowed the other to see just how damaged they really were.

“I saw the _Valkyrie_ as a way out,” Steve said. His voice had the flatness of constant rehearsal. “You died and I didn’t know what my life was without you. You’re the only thing in my life that’s made sense. I had a place when I was with you. I-” he bit his bottom lip, struggling with the words. Bucky couldn’t move. “I was scared. I didn’t know how to live without you. I didn’t want to.”

Bucky didn’t remember moving, but suddenly, Steve’s lips were crushed under his. Steve stiffened momentarily in shock before relaxing and kissing him back. Softly, tenderly. His hands, warm and gentle, wrapped around his back. Bucky kissed him deeper, hungrily, like Steve’s lips were the air he needed to survive. A hand moved from his back and wound itself in Bucky’s hair, holding him close. _Possessively._

And then, everything was too much. Every touch seared his damaged nerves. Sounds exploded. He put a hand on Steve’s chest and pushed him back, turning away and heaving air.

Emotion wasn’t allowed as the Soldier. Emotion meant a lack of control. Emotion meant failure. Emotion meant pain. He clenched his teeth, steeling himself for the electric static that would erase the confusion. His muscles tightened, expecting the cold bite of the metal that would hold him down. He waited for the order, for the crack of a hand across his cheek when he pleaded. _Wipe him. _

But it didn’t come. The voice and hand were gentle. He didn’t understand. Autonomy wasn’t allowed. He was a weapon. A machine. Nothing more. He’d broken the number one rule they’d instilled in him.

“Bucky.”

The name flickered recognition. The voice sparked a memory. A blond-haired kid with a wide grin despite his split lip and blackening eye. Steve. His breathing grew rapid. Memories as the Soldier were dangerous. They brought emotion.

“Bucky.” Steve’s voice came again.

Bucky. He remembered before the war. Happiness, an arm around Steve, the Expo. An easy laugh. That used to him. Then came the war. The torture. The Soldier. He’d been that monstrosity for longer than he’d been himself. Now, he didn’t know what he was. He tried to be human, but how could he be when he’d been a machine for so long?

“Bucky, it’s okay. You’re safe.”

Safe. From who? How could he be safe when it was his mind he was the most afraid of? How could he be safe when his dreams sent him back into the chair? When anything encircling his head sent him into cold chills? When feeling anything apart from cold nothingness broke him? How could he be safe when he was afraid of himself?

A hesitant hand brushed his shoulder before cupping his cheek and bringing his chin up. There was nothing but kindness in Steve’s eyes. And Bucky didn’t understand why. He’d hurt him time and time again. Steve carefully folded Bucky into his arms and he allowed himself to just be held.

Bucky Barnes had cried three times in his life. Once when his mother died; once when his father died; and once when Steve had been so sick he’d let himself imagine living a life without him. They’d been silent occurrences, over almost as quickly as it started. Any form of weakness warranted punishment. That message had been the one constant in his life. But here in Steve’s arms, terrified and hurt, he let himself shatter.

Sobs wracked his body. Everything he’d held in, all the pain, all the confusion, he let it out. Everything he’d been taught not to be, everything he’d been taught was a weakness, a distraction, he let it go. Everything he’d fought so hard to forget flooded him. He didn’t know how to handle any of it anymore. Steve took a shuddering breath, but never let go, only turning to more efficiently pull Bucky closer. He palmed the back of his head, letting him know it was okay.

By the time Bucky finally stopped crying, the backyard was fully bathed in sunlight. Birds chirped cheerfully in the pine. Down the road, children shrieked in glee. He pulled away from Steve, exhausted beyond anything he’d felt before. Steve wordlessly helped him up and into the house. He stopped at the sight of the knife in the wall. And with complete certainty, he knew.

“Steve?”

“Buck, we can have that conversation later.”

“I’ve waited long enough,” he whispered. “I’m ready. I want help.” 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's some happy

Bucky had never wished for snow before, but right now, the bright heat of late June was the last thing he wanted. As the Soldier, he hadn’t been exposed often to the heat. Now, it allowed him to forget for a little bit. Sitting in the office of his new therapist, this was the first time he didn’t _want_ to forget. He needed to move on, and in order to do that, he needed to talk. Cold helped him remember.

The office was cute, that’s the only way Bucky could describe it. The carpet was multi-colored. Every time he glanced down, he focused on a different color. Plants lined the shelves, interspersing the heavy volumes with splashes of green.

“Have you named them?” he asked.

“The plants? No.”

Bucky stood and walked over to the shelves, looking at a pink tinted succulent. “May I?” he asked. At her nod, Bucky picked it up and let his fingers brush over the top. He couldn’t help himself. “Rosie,” he said. “Her name is Rosie.”

Dr. Scheinbaum smiled. “Rosie it is.”

Bucky turned in a slow circle, taking in the rest of the office. It would take more time than they had today to name them all. Finding the perfect name took time. It would take a while for them to all have names, but in the weeks to come, he could be assured they all did. He would feel infinitely better about sitting on the couch then. He would be among friends.

“If you’re uncomfortable starting with anything heavy today, you don’t have to. We can stay informal,” she told him, setting her portfolio on the coffee table.

Bucky sat back on the couch and stared at his hands. Metal folded over flesh. He hadn’t wanted to see the same therapist as Steve. But after looking and reading the biographies and credentials of hundreds, he had to admit she was the best. If Steve trusted her enough to see her once a week, he knew she had to be. She’d been top of her class at Yale and specialized in trauma counseling. She’d worked extensively with Steve and Sam. She understood their lifestyle. It wouldn’t take her aback to listen to everything he’d gone through.

“No, um. I want to. There’s just so much I don’t know where to start.”

“If I were to tell you to name the first thing that came to mind when I asked you what you most want to let go of, what would it be? Just the first thing you think of.”

Bucky chewed on the inside of his cheek. “Guilt.”

Dr. Scheinbaum nodded, situating her portfolio on her lap. “Can you elaborate on that?”

Bucky stared at his left palm. The plates of vibranium melded together seamlessly. It was beautiful in a way he wasn’t. He spoke plainly. “The worst thing about my memory is that I remember everything I did as the Soldier. Every face, every cry, every attempt at pleading for a life, I remember it perfectly. I remember how it feels when someone’s life ends, how the light in their eyes just dies. I remember being fascinated by that. It was so human and I…wasn’t. Not then, anyway. I didn’t know what I was. I was created for one purpose: complete the mission. When I could, I watched my target die in the hopes of understanding myself. I never did.

“But here I am, as myself as I can be at the moment, with these memories from a different man in my head. I am not the Soldier, but the Soldier is me. I might not have killed all those people, but I remember my hands callously pulling the trigger because the Soldier wanted to watch someone die. How do I reconcile that?”

He looked up to see Dr. Scheinbaum watching him carefully. Her brows narrowed slightly. “I want to set aside the Soldier. Do you see yourself, James Buchannan Barnes, as a victim or a villain?” she asked slowly.

“Steve would say I’m a victim,” Bucky said, staring at his hands again.

“I don’t care what Steve says. I want to know what you say. You’re the one who has the memories.”

“My face was the last thing everyone killed by the Soldier saw. Howard’s last words had been my name. It hadn’t meant anything to me then; he hadn’t meant anything to me then—he’d been another person I could watch die in the hopes of figuring out what I was. How can I remember that, how can I remember killing him, and think of myself as anything but a villain? I might have been ordered, HYDRA might have had control of my mind, but I still killed them all. I’d wanted to.”

Dr. Scheinbaum crossed her legs and leaned forward. She sighed, taking the time to find the right words. “As soon as your story was made available to the wide public, I spent weeks studying it. Objectively, it’s fascinating. But actually understanding the implications, seeing the damage, it’s nothing short of horrifying. This being said, I want to try something. I know you can’t separate yourself from your past but I want you to try, for just a second. Hear it in a way that doesn’t place you at the center. Can you do that for me?”

Bucky nodded. He’d gotten good at compartmentalizing. Most of what he’d forced himself to forget was still under tight lock and key in his mind. He forgot where the key was buried. He wasn’t ready for the day it unwillingly opened.

She rifled through the pages in her portfolio and set it on the table.

“A soldier falls from a train. As he’s falling, he watches his fellow man barely able to save himself before he too would’ve joined the soldier in the icy air. Body broken and bloodied, he waits in the snow to die. But poison boils in his veins and instead of dying, he’s found and saved. He’s thrown into a cell by the very people he’d fought to kill. Once again, they torture him. They take away the arm that had been mangled in the fall and replace it with something that has no memory of warmth. It had only been touched with malevolent intention.

“The soldier fights. He fought them before—he just has to wait it out. He’ll be found like he was before. The torture continues. Electric currents strip away memories. Beatings replace the memory of gentle touches. Violent words replace laughter. Still, the soldier fights. Electricity makes him forget why he fights, but he does. Bit by bit, the man he was disappears. No one is coming. The beatings continue. Words now accompany the torture. Against the soldier’s will, his limbs lock. He tries to fight, to scream, to disrupt, but he is muzzled.”

Bucky’s foot tapped an erratic rhythm on the carpet. His left fingers closed around his right wrist.

“The electricity continues to strip him. The soldier no longer fights. He’s too tired. He no longer remembers the man he’d been. The words are said and he has no control as his mind becomes blank. He learns that if he follows orders, the pain decreases. It doesn’t stop, but it becomes more manageable. So he does what he’s told. He kills, now this is important. He kills—not by choice, but by means of survival.”

She paused for a moment to meet his gaze. “Now let me ask you. Is this soldier a victim or a villain?”

"He’s a victim.”

“Why?”

“It was never his fault. He didn’t ask for any of it. All he wanted was to serve his country and protect his best friend. He fought against it. Learned to leave messes whenever possible. Made it difficult even when it brought him pain.”

Dr. Scheinbaum nodded and jotted something down. “Having said that, are you a victim or a villain?”

Bucky’s mouth went dry. His fingers tightened around his wrist. “Both.” He exhaled, sucking his bottom lip in. “Objectively, I know that everything I went through makes me a victim, but my mind won’t let me believe that. How can I only be a victim of circumstance when I’m a villain in so many stories? If you didn’t know my story, everything I went through, if the only thing you knew about me was my kill count and the stories fabricated about me, would you call me a victim?”

“But I do know your story, and so do you.” Dr. Scheinbaum leaned forward. “Why are you so unwilling to admit that you, James Buchannan Barnes, are as much a victim of the Winter Soldier as all the people he killed?”

“Because if I do that, how do I pay penance for all the people I killed?”

“Is refusing yourself peace not penance enough?

Bucky stayed silent. Everything was too much to process.

“Are Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde the same person?” she asked a few minutes later.

Bucky frowned at the shift. “They’re derived from the same person.”

“Yes, but are they the same person? Is Dr. Jekyll responsible for the actions of Mr. Hyde?”

Bucky blinked, his brow furrowing. “No.”

“When the Winter Soldier was in his height of terror, was there any trace of James Buchannan Barnes?”

He felt bruises begin to bloom on his wrist. “No.”

“So why punish yourself when you had no say?”

It took him a long time to figure out what he needed to say. It took him even longer to force the words out into the open. “I think what I’m struggling with is the fact that I have these memories. I can remember the Soldier killing people, but I can’t really remember my childhood. Sometimes, I have trouble remembering what I eat for breakfast. What I never forget are the faces of everyone the Soldier killed. This guilt forces me to remember, and it’s twisted and messed up, I know that, but it’s a comfort to know that when I wake up tomorrow I’ll know there’s something I can remember. If I let go of that, what do I have left?”

There was nothing but patient kindness in Dr. Scheinbaum’s voice. “Bucky, the guilt you’re trying to resolve is the guilt of a different man. Yes, you have his memories, but you have to acknowledge that they aren’t your memories. However, I think you’re hiding behind them. I think, now correct me if I’m wrong, I think you’re afraid of letting them go because you don’t know what’s going to replace them and that’s a scary prospect. It could be something worse, but it could also be memories from your childhood. They could be happy memories. I think you’re afraid of that chance because you’re no longer that person. You no longer know who that person was. And so you hide behind something you know, even though it brings you discomfort.” 

He bit the corner of his lip. “I…” He didn’t know what he was trying to say. She was right. “I’ve lived with this guilt for so long I almost feel guilty letting it go. Who am I without it?”

“That’s what you get to figure out. It’s not going to be easy. You’re going to fall, but you have people in your corner to help you back up. But you have to decide that you want to take this journey. You have to believe you deserve it.”

Bucky took a deep, centering breath and released his wrist. “I do.”

“It’s easy to say, but do you actually believe it?”

He thought of the day he and Steve went to the aquarium. Of when Steve had fallen asleep with his head in Bucky’s lap. Of the peace he’d felt. Of his desire for a time where he was okay enough for that to be normal. Of a time he didn’t have to be afraid of the Soldier ruining everything. And he wanted it. “I do.”

Dr. Scheinbaum smiled. “Then I’ll see you on Saturday.”

When he finally left the office (he’d named a few more plants; the hanging spider plant was now Joe, a distant cousin of his own Ivan), Bucky felt lighter than he had in months. It was the first time he’d ever felt separate from the Soldier. Until now, he hadn’t realized how much space the Soldier had taken up. For the first time, he felt like he could really breathe. That he could take a step back. He’d never been able to accept that they were both victims. The guilt hadn’t let him.

He was done with it.

The guilt.

The shame.

All of it.

It wouldn’t be easy—nothing had ever been easy for him—but he was willing to fight for it. It was the first war he actually desired to fight. This time, he wasn’t fighting for anyone but himself. The only casualty would be his trauma.

He ran his fingers through his hair and pulled it back into a bun. He tilted his head back to take in the warmth of the sun. They were the first tactile things he’d learned to attach to the present moment. As far as he could remember, the Soldier had never cared for his hair. The decisions about it had never been made by him. Washing it himself for the first time had left him with a mixture of terror and happy relief. He hadn’t had autonomy for a long time.

The sun was simple enough. The Soldier hadn’t often been in it. Almost all of his missions had been in the cold. He hadn’t done well in the heat; he’d started to remember. Nights on fire escapes, shoulders brushing despite the heat. Bucky craved the heat now. He didn’t know what he’d do when winter came.

But that wasn’t something to worry about now. He wasn’t going to let himself think about that now. Shaking himself, he walked past his bike and towards the park that bordered Dr. Scheinbaum’s office. He wasn’t quite ready to return home. A week had passed and they hadn’t yet talked about the incident that had pushed Bucky over the edge. They hadn’t talked about what had happened in the garden. Bucky didn’t even know if it had happened. He didn’t know if he wanted it to have happened.

Children shrieked with glee in the castle-like playground. A few boys chased each other with sticks, occasionally skidding to a stop in order to face each other in combat. Under a tree, two girls braided daisies into the other’s hair. When finished, they grabbed hold of the discarded sticks beside them and charged towards the boys, issuing a war cry. Bucky smiled and shook his head. A smaller Steve wouldn’t have hesitated to join the fight either. Granted, he was sure Steve today wouldn’t have hesitated either. Even if it was pretend, fighting was in Steve’s blood. 

He continued walking. A large maple sat at the edge of the large field and he shifted his path. It was far enough away from everything to give him privacy, but close enough he could keep an eye on the progress of the fight. He wouldn’t tell anyone, but he was rooting for the two girls. The bark was comfortable against his back. With dappled sunlight and the light wind playing over his face, he closed his eyes. For once, his brain was blessedly quiet. Warm and relaxed, he let himself just be.

He was in a space between consciousness and dreams when he felt soft pressure on his thigh. Frowning at the disruption of the peace, he opened his eyes. A white kitten was in the process of curling itself on his left leg, pressing its tiny body against his palm. Startled, he froze. The kitten settled down, closing its eyes.

When he regained his ability to move, he checked for a collar and found nothing. There were no frantic shouts and frenetic activity around him to indicate anyone had lost a pet. With the number of bones he could see as its flank rose and fell, he figured it was a stray. The thought saddened him.

_Not anymore. _

The thought came so quickly and possessively it startled him. But why not? The kitten could have gone anywhere, but it had chosen him. She had chosen his left side. That was the fact that startled him. And then he realized the metal had to be warm after sitting motionless in the sun for the better part of the afternoon. For the first time, it had become an object of warmth and safety instead of cold and dangerous.

It was more than what it had been created for.

When he stood up to start heading home, he took the kitten with him. She was his now.

It took him the better part of his walk home (he left his bike at the office—he wasn’t going to subject his new kitten to it yet) to realize that he’d been tranquil enough to foster the impression of safety. That idea made him happier than anything else.

***

There were too many options for calendars. That’s what Steve thought when he stood in the Target aisle filled only with different brands, sizes, and styles. All he wanted was a simple one. Large enough to be prominent and easy to fill, but simple enough to not be distracting.

After Bucky decided he wanted to go to therapy, Steve had promised himself he would buy one. It was time. He just hadn’t expected it to be so hard. After refusing to even look at calendars for so long, being surrounded by them was difficult. But he’d promised himself. So he was going to buy one. He was going to have physical proof of his desire to see the future.

He spotted a large black and white one hidden near the back of the shelf. His hand shook as he pulled it out. The fact that he wanted this had nothing on his anxiety over planning ahead. But just because he’d avoided it didn’t mean he couldn’t now bring it back into his life. That’s what he told himself over and over as he tucked it under his arm and walked to the self-checkout.

Planning ahead was what people did. It helped to keep an organized life. It was okay.

If Warrior K9 saw the calendar, saw the effort put into it, it would get Bucky a dog.

Everything was muffled around him as he walked to the next available machine. If anyone recognized him, he didn’t notice. The beep of the scanner was deafening. _Goddamn it, you want this. _His hand shook violently as he fed his card to the machine. _You chose this. There is no one to blame but you. Get over yourself_. He tucked the calendar back under his arm and left the store.

By the time he made it home, his hand had stopped shaking. He sat at the counter and picked up a pen, writing JULY in the blank space reserved for the month. Consulting his phone, he filled in the dates. The pen was hovering over July 2nd when his hand started shaking again.

_Just write Steve: Therapy. That’s all you have to do. You’ve already verbally committed, just write the goddamn words. _But writing them would make it official. If he couldn’t go for some godforsaken reason, it would be failure. Failure wasn’t acceptable. Failure had meant the difference between life or death. _No one is going to die if you can’t make it. You can use whiteout or a pencil. You can make amendments later. Just write the goddamn words. _

His hand was shaking so hard he could barely control the pen. By the time he wrote his name, his stomach was so tight he thought he was going to be sick. _This will get Bucky a dog._ He forced himself to continue. When he finished, the words were barely legible, but they were there.

They were there. On a calendar. He had committed to something and made note of it.

God, how far he’d fallen. Calendars had used to be one of his favorite things as a kid. In every Sunday square, he’d promise himself he’d still be alive. He’d keep track of how many fights he’d needed to prove himself in. Of course, he’d never let his ma see it. She’d had enough to worry about as it was. If Bucky had seen it, he’d never said anything.

This time, it was going to stay in sight. Grabbing a thumb tack, he stood and walked to the damaged wall. The knife had since been taken out, but they hadn’t yet patched the hole; there had been too much going on to fully face its implications. He put the calendar over the hole. It had been what spurred everything. It was a reminder of their choice to heal.

He’d just settled himself on the couch when Bucky walked back in, holding something white close to his chest. Steve frowned when it moved.

“What’cha got there?”

Bucky held up the cup he had in his other hand. “A smoothie.” Slurping loudly, he walked to his room and shut the door.

Steve just blinked, shook his head and laid back down on the couch, pulling two blankets over him. He was too tired to do anything else. Dr. Scheinbaum would tell him to be patient with himself, that the first step was always the hardest, but writing on a fucking calendar shouldn’t be as hard as it was. He could’ve written it on a sheet of paper and stuck it to the fridge to the same effect.

Bucky was back. He’d chosen life. It shouldn’t be this fucking hard.

He ground his palm into his eyes until he saw stars. If he could just sleep, he knew things would be better, but ever since Bucky had kissed him, his nightmares had gotten worse. That was, if he managed to fall asleep at all. Most nights he was too aware of everything. He trusted Bucky, he did, but he couldn’t help but think any footsteps in the kitchen belonged to the Soldier. That or the government had finally decided they were too dangerous and decided to take them in. They most likely knew he didn’t have his shield any more. It was only a matter of time.

Things were finally getting good. In all his experience, nothing good in his life had ever lasted. So why should it now? What had he ever done to deserve anything good? He was just an angry kid forced to grow up way too fast. All he ever did was fight. He was that ‘Rogers kid’ everyone was warned to stay away from. Might get sick if you get too close to him. Might become a fag if you spend too much time with him.

The memory of Bucky’s lips on his burned in his memory. He’d spent his entire life dreaming about the day he’d finally built enough courage to kiss him. In all his fantasy, he had never imagined it would be Bucky kissing him. But then he’d torn himself away and the only thing that mattered was assuring Bucky stayed safe. They hadn’t spoken about it since. Maybe it was better that way. They could heal. Things could go back to a semblance of how they had been before. Nothing would be the same, but they could pretend.

Pretend nothing mattered. Pretend he wasn’t fearful every time he heard a knock on the door. Pretend he didn’t feel responsible for all the attacks they heard about on the news. If he’d been there to help, there was a chance of fewer casualties. After fighting all his life, after having been given this new body because he stood up for his ideals, why should he be allowed to rest?

But he was so tired. And he’d jumped a hurdle today he never thought he would—never thought he’d have a reason to. He had to remember that. He’d taken the first step, and no one could take that away from him. Repeating that as if it were his lifeline, Steve closed his eyes and did his best to get his body to relax.

_It was bitterly cold. Harsh winds tossed the snow; the hard, compact flakes burned when they hit his cheeks. Each punch that landed on exposed skin was agony. He jumped back, barely escaping the metal fist. Beside him, Tony struggled to get up. The Soldier had quickly and effectively dismantled his suit, leaving him defenseless on the freezing concrete. _

_He raised his shield just in time to block another punch. The Soldier no longer wore a mask. Understanding that the familiar eyes no longer housed his best friend had been the hardest thing he’d ever had to do. Bucky was dead. The Soldier was the only thing left. Even with that understanding, he never looked him in the eyes. He couldn’t afford to be distracted. The Soldier was too much of a threat to leave alive. _

_Steve managed to land a kick that sent the Soldier staggering back. This time, he made the mistake making eye-contact. There was fear in the Soldier’s eyes. The Soldier froze at the sight of Steve. _

It’s not Bucky. Don’t get emotional. Finish the job.

_He used the Soldier’s moment of hesitation to his advantage, his furious blows sending him stumbling back. Eventually, the Soldier fell, landing hard enough his head cracked against the concrete. _

_Steve continued landing blow after blow. The fear in the Soldier’s eyes grew. But it wasn’t the Soldier anymore. _

_“Steve?” Bucky lifted his arms in an attempt to block the furious punches. _

_The scientists and a group of buyers looked on from a viewing room. “We designed it to be emotionless,” the scientists explained to the buyers. “The target we gave it used to be its best friend. They used to go to the ends of the earth to protect each other. Now, it doesn’t even recognize him. It is the perfect weapon.” _

_A weapon, that’s what he was. He rolled his shoulder, feeling the metal plates shift into position. The fear in the man’s face was intriguing. It was such a human emotion. _

_“Steve.” There was familiarity in the way the man said the name. A brief flicker of recognition flashed through the Soldier. Blood bloomed on the man’s face as his fist connected. _

_“It’s okay, Steve.” The man coughed, spitting out blood. _

_The Soldier cocked his head. There was something about the man that was familiar. Important. He hesitated. A sharp electric shock jolted him. He punched again. And again. _

_“Stevie, it’s okay. Everything’s okay.” The voice was faint. He continued punching long after the voice disappeared._

_It was only when his knuckles were slick with blood that he recognized the man below him. Steve fell backward. He stared at his hands, nausea rising in him. Bucky stared unseeingly at the frostbitten ceiling. _

_“Occasionally, it malfunctions, but that’s easy enough to fix. Come morning, it won’t remember any of this.”_

_Another sharp electric current locked his muscles, forcing himself to stare at his best friend’s broken body._

_“Steve, it’s okay. Everything’s okay.” The bloodied corpse sat up and reached out, gripping his frozen muscles. Shaking him. “You’re going to be okay.” _

_Steve. The corpse continued to shake him. _

“Steve. Wake up.”

When he came to, he was trapped by blankets. They wrapped around him, smothering him. Vision hazed with fear, he struck out, managing to get his arm disentangled enough to fling one across the living room. Bucky quickly pulled the other one away. Steve pitched forward, heaving for breath. He closed his eyes, desperately searching for things to pull him back to the present. Bucky murmured softly, his hand on his knee. The shag carpet was soft under his feet. Birds sang obnoxiously loud in the garden. Cars drove up the street. A cat meowed somewhere above him.

He looked up. Bucky knelt in front of him, his face a mask of concern. A white kitten sat perched on his left shoulder.

“Since when do we have a cat?”

He needed to think about anything other than the clinging vestiges of his nightmare. He wasn’t yet ready to face it. It was still too close. Bucky’s broken and bloodied face imprinted itself on his eyelids. Steve blinked, trying to focus on the face in front of him. Alive. Concerned. Alive. Alive. Alive.

“This is Alpine. She’s been mine as of two hours.”

Steve just shrugged. It wasn’t the first time Bucky had brought home a stray. Once before the war, he’d found a dog with a broken leg and brought it home. They’d both known it wasn’t going to make it, but it had gotten her off the streets for a bit.

"Here, you can hold her if you want.”

Before Steve could reply, Bucky had reached up and taken Alpine off his shoulder. Once on his lap, she put her paws on his stomach and stretched up, meowing at him. He used his pointer finger to stroke her tiny head and she pressed it against his palm, purring.

“Where did you find her?”

“The park bordering the office. I went to clear my head and she climbed on my leg and fell asleep pressed against my left arm.”

Steve gently picked her up and lowered himself to the floor, setting her between his legs. Bucky shifted so his knees were touching his. Alpine pounced on a square of light and rolled over. Bucky tickled her belly with his left hand.

“She didn’t care—actually probably liked it better because of how warm it was in the sun.”

Steve smiled. “Because it doesn’t matter, Buck. I’ve been trying to tell you—it’s not the arm of the Soldier. It’s just you.” He remembered seeing the arm attached to his own body, how it almost seemed to move of its own volition, and his smile fell away. It was still too fresh.

Bucky rolled his shoulder. The square of light moved. Alpine pounced again. Bucky smiled softly and shifted his arm. Steve was caught by how genuine the expression of happiness was. It was so different from the mask of fear he’d created in the dream. He dug his fingers into the carpet, trying to keep himself grounded.

The pressure on Steve’s leg lessened as Bucky shifted to take of his arm. Light scattered across the carpet and Alpine bounded across the room. She landed on Steve’s leg, pawing at the reflection on his thigh. Steve gently placed her back on the floor.

They were quiet for a while. Bucky kept his knee pressed against Steve’s. The simple pressure and the occasional chuckle as Alpine launched herself at the ever shifting light was enough to keep him present. When she climbed onto Bucky’s leg and curled up, he reattached his arm.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” He couldn’t. Not yet at least. Bucky nodded. Steve knew he understood.

Placing Alpine on the couch, Bucky stood and held out a hand. “Come on, let’s go for a walk.”

He still hadn’t shaken the nightmare come evening. It had been easy enough to keep out of his mind when he’d been busy—they’d gone to the pet store to pick up some essentials for Alpine, and Bucky had had spent the better part of an hour picking out the perfect bed and food for her. Steve had been only too happy to play along. Anything to remind himself that they both were alive.

But now that he was alone, he couldn’t stop remembering the emptiness he’d felt in his dream. How nothing else had mattered except for completing the mission. The scariest part was that he couldn’t put it on being the Soldier. Even when he’d been himself, nothing had mattered more than killing his target. He hadn’t cared it was Bucky. He hadn’t felt.

“I killed you,” he said hollowly when Bucky sat on the edge of his bed, a cup of tea in his hands. “We were in Serbia, except instead of trying to protect you, I was trying to kill you. But it wasn’t you, not at first. Only the Soldier was left. But then it was you, and I didn’t care. And then _I_ was the Solder. I didn’t recognize you until you were dead.”

Bucky set the mug on the nightstand. “Give me your hand,” he instructed. Steve complied.

Carefully and deliberately, Bucky placed Steve’s hand over his heart and breathed deeply. His heart beat strong and steady. Steve closed his eyes. Bucky folded his hand on top of Steve’s, holding it in place.

“I’m still here,” Bucky said. “I’m not going anywhere and that’s not changing anytime soon.”

Steve opened his eyes. Bucky stared at him, an earnest expression on his face.

“They did their best to kill Bucky Barnes and they were unsuccessful. You can tell your dreams to get with the updated program.” Steve unwillingly smiled and Bucky grinned.

It didn’t take long for him to have Steve laughing, the horror of the dream fading at last. It was a skill he’d always had and one he’d gotten extremely good at.

“Well forgive me for not trusting you, Steve, he was four times bigger than you! He could’ve easily kicked your ass without exerting any energy. How was I supposed to know your proclivity for foul language would stun him into dormancy?”

“He didn’t know what I was saying, for all he knew, I was giving him an Irish blessing.” Bucky raised his eyebrows. “The fact that I was wishing for the devil to make a ladder out of his spine is completely beside the point. The point is that I _have_ successfully won a fight without getting punched.”

“Only because I dragged you out before he managed to process what you said.”

Steve spluttered. “I object wholeheartedly to that statement. That was a fight I won without your assistance.”

“Oh yeah, because you’re such a punk.”

“Jerk. You try yelling ‘_go ndeine an diabhal dréimire de cnámh do dhroma ag piocadh úll i ngairdín Ifrinn’ _at someone four times your size, come back and tell me how it went.”

Bucky just rolled his eyes.

Steve was ready for bed by the time the fear crept back in. It wasn’t all-encompassing like it had been before, but it lingered in the back of his mind. If he slept, he didn’t know what his mind would provide him; it had started to disregard its previous kindness of nonconsecutive nightmares. If he didn’t sleep, all he’d have to worry about was every single noise. The choice was clear.

Resigned to the fact that he wouldn’t be sleeping, he grabbed one of the many thick blankets from his bed and walked to the living room. Curling up on the couch, he stared out into the dark garden. He tensed at the sound of feet behind him.

“Steve?”

“Hmm.” 

“You’re not doing this, not tonight. Come on.” 

Bucky appeared in front of him and held out his hand. Instinctively, Steve reached out to take it and Bucky hauled him to his feet, leading him to his room. The only light was from the fairy lights Bucky had strung around his entire ceiling. He’d put them up as soon as he’d known he had a room to make his own.

Crawling into bed, he curled back into a tight ball, staring at the wall and listening as Bucky got himself ready for bed. His body remained strung tight. Each sound from outside made him tense. It was only when Bucky’s arms were securely around him that he was able to relax. As Bucky’s breath deepened into sleep, Steve allowed himself to close his eyes. Eventually, he too fell asleep.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More happy?

When Steve woke, the bed beside him was empty. He let his hand smooth over the empty sheets, a strange feeling curling in his stomach. His dreams hadn’t been bad per se, but they’d been unsettling. He’d lived a life—a happy life, a normal life—without knowing Bucky. They’d talked and then gone their separate ways without a second thought.

He hated the thought that he would’ve been able to live the same life without knowing him. Maybe he wouldn’t’ve lived past sixteen, maybe he wouldn’t have lived in constant fear of being found out, but he still would’ve fought. He still would’ve found a way to join the army. Maybe he would’ve married Peggy. Maybe he’d have been a father. Maybe he wouldn’t be afraid to fall asleep.

It might’ve been an easier life, but it wasn’t a life he wanted to live. And he didn’t have to think about it. His dreams were just manifestations of his unspoken fears. It wasn’t real—he needed to remember that. They weren’t real. He repeated that to himself as he slid out of bed and pulled the blanket around himself.

Bucky sat at the table with a plate of eggs, sausage and toast, the paper spread out in front of him. Alpine had curled herself on his left shoulder. The eraser of a pencil was between his teeth as he squinted at the crossword. He muttered to himself as Steve compiled a plate of his own and poured a glass of orange juice. On his way back to the table, he caught a glimpse of the calendar and frowned in surprise before smiling.

**Wednesday, July 2**

Bucky Therapy

Dinner: Chicken Parm

**Thursday, July 3 **

Steve Therapy

Dinner: Fettuccini Alfredo 

**Friday, July 4**

Stevie's Birthday

**Saturday, July 5th**

Bucky Therapy

Alpine Vet

“I hope it’s okay I took over your calendar,” Bucky said when he sat across from him. “You know how shitty my memory is.”

“No, it’s great,” Steve replied. Seeing Bucky’s schedule overlaid on his made the whole thing seem normal. Because it was. It didn’t need to be scary.

“Good.” He took a bite of eggs and frowned at the paper. “Musical Instrument. What kind of clue is that?”

Steve took a sip of juice. “A shitty one. How many letters?”

“Four.”

“Oboe?”

“It starts with an e.”

Steve shrugged and continued eating. Alpine meowed.

“I know I could look up four letter instruments, but that defeats the purpose.” Alpine meowed again. “You make a good case that I don’t know a wide variety of instruments, but still, it defeats the purpose.”

Steve breathed a laugh to himself. Mornings like this made everything seem like it would all work out in the end. Mornings like this made it feel like he actually had a shot at living a normal life. Mornings like this reminded him how much he loved the man sitting across from him. Bucky smiled to himself and filled in a word. Steve shoveled eggs in his mouth and ducked his head.

“Seemed like you slept pretty well last night,” Bucky said, passing Steve a plate to dry. “At least better than yesterday afternoon.”

Steve shrugged. “Sleep’s sleep.” He didn’t know why he was passing it off. If anyone understood his sleep problems, it would be Bucky. But he wanted Bucky to think he was healing. He wanted to be healing. And they were just dreams. They couldn’t hurt him.

Bucky gave him a long stare but didn’t press. “Just therapy today?”

“I was going to call back Colette, see if we can schedule another interview, but other than that, I’ve got nothing else planned. Why?”

“Just wanted to know how long I had the house to myself. I have some things to take care of.”

Steve put both the plates away, assuring everything was stacked evenly. “You’ve got most of the afternoon. I’ll probably take a drive after to clear my head.”

“I left my bike at the office yesterday. You wouldn’t mind walking there and driving it back, would you?”

“Fine by me.”

Bucky tossed him the keys and he pocketed them.

Dr. Scheinbaum gave him a long stare as he sat on the couch and picked up the pillow. “You have the look of a man who has a lot on his mind,” she said.

“The past week has been a lot,” Steve admitted. “But I bought a calendar and wrote in my appointments.” 

Dr. Scheinbaum smiled. “That’s wonderful! I’m glad for you, Steve.”

Steve looked down at the pillow. “Jumping from a plane was easier than writing my schedule.” He hated admitting that.

“Doing anything other than what you’ve trained yourself to be comfortable with is going to take a while to feel normal. Be patient with yourself. Be kind to yourself.”

Steve nodded. “I know. But writing on a calendar shouldn’t be as hard as it was. I thought I was going to be sick with how tight my stomach was. The only thing that really got me through it was the thought that if Warrior K9 sees it, it’ll get Bucky on the waiting list. That’s what really matters.”

A complex set of emotions crossed her face before settling into a careful frown. “Is that the only reason you bought the calendar?”

“No.” He paused. “Yes.” He sighed and rubbed his hands over his eyes. “I don’t know. Having a goal in mind made it easier, and after everything he’s been through, he deserves a dog. He deserves someone who isn’t able to judge him based on his past.”

“Is your recovery not a good enough goal?”

“It is, but-”

“But what, Steve?” It was a gentle question.

He realized he was picking at his thumb and gripped the pillow tighter. “All I did was purposefully crash a plane because I couldn’t see a life worth living anymore. Bucky is the one who was tortured, brainwashed and forced to kill.”

"Does that make you any less deserving of peace?”

“No, but, it’s just that, he…he needs this.”

“So do you. You both faced levels of trauma that other men could only dream of. They’re incomparable to each other, but neither is undeserving of healing. Just because you didn’t face what Bucky did doesn’t mean your trauma isn’t valid.”

“I know that-”

“Do you, Steve?” She folded her hands on top of her portfolio and leaned forward slightly. “Because I think you’re just telling me what you think I want to hear in order to get my signature.” Steve’s shoulders collapsed forward and she continued, gently this time.

“I can see that you’re making progress, and I’m proud of how far you’ve come, but there’s so much that’s only come up after you started this process of applying for a service dog. This isn’t a bad thing—it means you’re serious about wanting to move forward, but it makes me wonder. Who are you putting the effort in for, you or Bucky?”

Steve blinked and furrowed his brow. “I thought it was for me.” He shook his head, staring at the pillow, fighting the urge to pick at his fingers. “I guess I don’t know anymore.”

Dr. Scheinbaum nodded and tapped her fingers against her portfolio. A moment of silence followed. “Remind me of something: why did you fight as a kid?”

“To prove that I deserved to live just as much as everyone else.”

“To prove to who?”

“Myself.” It felt good to finally admit that. “If I could stand up and fight even after being told I wasn’t worth it, it meant I could do anything. It meant I defined myself.”

“So what’s different now? If you were able to fight for yourself then, why can’t you do it now? You have just as much, if not more, going for you now.”

Steve sat in silence, not knowing how to respond. Part of him knew it was the same concept, but for some reason, he couldn’t accept it. He wanted to, but so much had changed.

“Think about it. I’m happy that you’re fighting, that you have a reason to heal, but I want you to get to the point where it’s solely for yourself.”

“Okay.” He continued staring at the pillow.

“When was the last time you did something kind just for yourself?” she asked. “Something that could be considered frivolous—something you did just because you wanted to do it?”

Steve didn’t answer. He couldn’t answer. Dr. Scheinbaum nodded. She rifled through the pages in her portfolio, her brows knitting together.

“How’s your sleep schedule?” Her voice was gentle again.

“It’s fine.” Pain bloomed in his thumb.

“What did we say about lying, Steve?”

Steve sighed and picked at the corner of the pillow. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to say. That I can’t fall asleep because I’m too aware of every single noise in my house? That I’m scared to fall asleep because I know in some way I’ll be killing the man I’ve been in love with for my entire life?”

“Yes. I want to know why you don’t think it’s worth talking about.”

“Because they’re just dreams. It doesn’t matter.” He refused to think about how he hadn’t recognized Bucky. How even if he had, he wouldn’t have cared. Killing him had been the only thing that mattered.

“It matters, Steve. Your anxiety and fear, your ambivalence towards the future, these nightmares, they’re all wrapped up in your PTSD. The only way you’re going to move past this is if you confront it and figure out a way to resolve whatever it is that’s causing them. If you talk about them, we can work through them. I want you to feel comfortable going to sleep.”

“Most of the time it’s fine,” Steve told her. If he had a nightmare, he could almost count on waking up with Bucky’s arms around him. But he couldn’t bring himself to say that because he was scared at the implications it would bring up. And he wasn’t ready to talk about the dreams themselves. There were some things he wasn’t yet ready to face.

She made a note in her portfolio.

“Bucky kissed me.” Even he was surprised by the proclamation. He hadn’t expected to say it. Her pen stilled. Steve could sense she was waiting for him to continue. He stared at the floor.

“The morning after I talked to you about my attempt was difficult to say in the least. Bucky went into the Winter Soldier and threw a knife at my head. A fight ensued, he went into the garden. A little bit later, I followed and told him about the plane, how I hadn’t seen a point to living a life he wasn’t in because he’d always been my constant. And then he kissed me.” He rubbed his lips.

“And? What happened next?”

“Bucky had a panic attack. I don’t think he meant to kiss me. I think with everything that had happened that morning, he just needed a way to siphon his emotions.”

"When it happened, how did you feel?”

His lips burned with the memory. “It felt right.” He shrugged. “I’ve dreamed of kissing him for as long as I can remember.”

“Have you talked about it?”

Steve shook his head. “I don’t even know if he remembers it. Everything happened so fast. And if he doesn’t, I don’t want to make things awkward between us. If he does, he’s waiting until he’s ready and I’m going to respect that.”

“Have you talked to him about your sexuality yet?”

Steve gripped the pillow, staring at the hatched pattern. “No. I’ve tried. Planned to on numerous occasions, but I haven’t been able to bring myself to say it. I just don’t want things to change for the worse. Things could change for the better, I know that, but that’s never been my experience. So I’m scared that if I tell him, he remembers the kiss and it didn’t mean anything to him, I’m scared that things won’t be able to be the same. And with everything going on, that’s not something I can deal with right now. When things are stable enough, when we get into another routine, then I’ll tell him.”

When he looked up, he was surprised to see that she was smiling. It was a sad smile, but it was there. “Even just a few weeks ago, I would’ve needed to push you to reach that conclusion. I’m proud of you.”

He picked at his fingers and stayed silent.

Her eyes narrowed slightly at his reaction. “You don’t seem happy that you’re making progress, why?”

“Because I don’t feel like I’m making progress. I make a breakthrough one week and I feel great for a few hours, and then there’s a thought that worms its way in and I lose everything I worked for. I still wake up from these nightmares that are so real it sometimes takes me hours to fully understand they aren’t. And I want to be able to talk about them, but I can’t because if I do, it feels like all the horror is going to spill into my everyday life. At least if I keep them silent, it stays in one place.”

He sighed and rubbed his hands over his face. “Nothing in my life is ever easy, and I knew the moment I decided I wanted to move forward and heal that it would be hard. But after everything else I’ve been through, I thought that coming here and just talking would be the easy part. And I’m frustrated because I want to talk—I’m here because I need to talk—but the things I need to talk about, I can’t bring myself to do it. I’m frustrated because all I need to do is start talking and everything else will follow, but I’m too scared at what will happen.”

“Steve, the first session we had together, we sat in silence for half of it. If I mentioned the plane you would immediately grab the blanket and begin to dissociate. Since then, you’ve worked through the trauma of your childhood, you’ve worked through your suicide attempt, you’ve touched on your return to society. This is the first time you’ve hinted at your nightmares. Just because you can’t always see your progress doesn’t mean it’s not there. Just because you’re not working yourself to the point of a mental breakdown, it doesn’t mean you’re not doing your best.”

A drop of blood appeared on his thumb and he folded it in his palm. “I’m trying. I guess I’m just scared.”

She shook her head. “No. You’re courageous. What you’ve been through, I can’t even imagine it. Since your childhood, you’ve had so much put onto your shoulders. You’ve been forced to bear the responsibility for so many other people. You’ve neglected yourself because you had all this to this think about. You are courageous to have finally put yourself first.”

Her fingers tapped against her portfolio before she pulled out a piece of paper. After a scratching of a pen, she slid it towards him. He took it wordlessly.

“I’m happy enough with your progress to give you this. You’re working through a perspective shift and that takes time. You’re wrestling with it and most of the time, you’re winning.”

“Thanks,” he said. He carefully folded the letter and placed it in his jacket pocket.

“Of course. I’m proud of you, Steve.”

He was at the door when she called out again. “Your birthday is coming up, right?”

"Yeah, tomorrow.”

“Take yourself somewhere,” she told him.

“I will.” Walking out of the office, he realized he actually meant it.

***

Bucky hummed to himself as he scrolled through recipe after recipe. Frankly, they were all shit. For one thing, they were too complicated. That normally wasn’t a problem—he loved complicated, the more complicated, the better—but in the case of apple cake, it was ridiculous. It wasn’t supposed to be complicated.

He just wished he remembered Sarah’s recipe. But back then, he didn’t care about cooking. He’d been too busy watching out for Steve. Either that or he’d been at the docks. When he’d gotten home, he’d just eaten what was in front of him. Her cake had just been a rare delicacy for Steve’s birthday.

Finally finding one that seemed good enough and reminding himself he could tweak it however he wanted, he printed it off and checked the pantry. List in hand, he scratched Alpine behind the ears and left the house.

The door to Steve’s room was still closed when he got home. He couldn’t blame him; if he hadn’t woken up at the ass-crack of dawn from a nightmare, he too would’ve been sleeping. It had been a late night. After Steve had gotten home, they’d managed to reach Collette and have another interview. Thoroughly impressed with the amount of progress they’d appeared to have made since the last time they’d spoken, they’d worked through a contract and she’d placed them on the list. With Steve’s small fortune, they’d easily been able to pay. Steve even made a large donation to help other veterans be able to afford their dogs. Now it was just a waiting game.

After the call ended, they’d made dinner and passed around names before they realized they couldn’t name their dogs without meeting them first. And it would most likely be a year before they could even dream of that happening. So then they’d talked about things that didn’t really matter. At one point, Steve attempted to teach him Irish. It was one of the languages the Soldier didn’t know. Maybe they’d known it was too close to Bucky.

Seeing Steve’s happiness in speaking his childhood language made his shoddy articulation worth it. He remembered an odd phrase or two from his attempt to learn it before the war, but most of his memory of it had been lost. Last night, he hadn’t let it bother him. He let himself think of it as a blessing. Anything to see Steve that happy, to hear his true laugh, was a blessing.

Steve had tried to keep his grin hidden when Bucky struggled to get his mouth to form the strange vowels. Most of the time he’d failed. On his particularly bad attempts his smile turned into a cackle and Bucky retaliated by teaching him particularly brutal phrases in Russian. Steve had immediately sobered and continued his teachings. When Bucky was able to accurately and easily able to repeat the phrases, his smile had lit up the entire room. When they’d been able to hold a small conversation, his happiness had been palpable.

His smile was the first way Bucky had known he was in love with him. That, and his laugh. Nothing in the world was the same after Steve laughed. Everything was that much better when he smiled because how could anything stay unpleasant with that much unadulterated joy? When he smiled, Bucky knew everything would be okay. It was why he had long since made it his mission to make him happy. It was why he was making apple cake. It was why he was throwing him a birthday party.

He’d just put the pan in the oven when Steve walked into the living room, sketchbook and pencils in hand. He settled himself onto the couch and continued sketching.

“Happy birthday, old man,” Bucky called, reaching into the fridge and grabbing the array of vegetables he’d bought at the market.

Steve flipped him the bird. “I’m pretty sure you can’t call me old when you’re the oldest person in the room.”

"You’re ninety-eight, Steve. Pretty sure that counts as old.”

“Perhaps, but I’ll still never be as old as you. Therefore, I’m the young whippersnapper in the house.”

Bucky looked up from the cutting board. “Did you just say whippersnapper?”

Steve buried himself in his sketch. “_Imeacht go fánach ort féin is ar do chnapán miúlach,”_ he muttered.

Bucky wasn’t going to tell him that was one of the phrases he remembered from childhood. He just smiled to himself and continued working. Off with him and his lousy lump indeed.

The oven beeped at the same time there was a knock at the door. With a look towards Bucky, Steve pulled himself off the couch and disappeared down the hallway. He heard murmured conversation before Natasha called out his name. Setting the pan on the stove, he walked to the front door. At the sight of him, she smirked.

"Just wanted to make sure I was at the right house, what with this bearded fossil answering the door.”

“Ha ha, very funny,” Steve said dryly, moving aside to let her in and closing the door behind her.

She kicked off her shoes and followed the hallway into the living room, setting a large box by the couch. When she caught Bucky’s eye, she winked. Bucky couldn’t help but grin. Steve had absolutely no idea what was in store for him today, that was for sure. He returned to the kitchen while the two of them sat on the couch, falling into easy banter. Sam arrived a few minutes later, carrying a small but very boldly wrapped box. He set it on top of Natasha’s gift and joined them in the living room.

Putting the finishing touches on the chicken salad, Bucky put the bowl in the fridge, checked the apple cake and took his own spot beside Steve. He’d only sat down for a second when he remembered the other thing he’d bought at the store. Holding up a finger, he stood and walked to his room. Returning as quietly as he could, he stood behind Steve and secured the plastic party hat to his head. When Steve reached up to investigate, Bucky swatted his hand away.

“Birthday parties require the proper attire,” he told them, giving Steve a hard stare. “As the birthday boy, you’re required to wear the proper attire.”

Steve muttered something in Irish, but didn’t try to remove it again. Satisfied, he handed Sam and Nat their hats, put on his own, and returned to his spot beside Steve. With Natasha curled lavishly on the other end, they were forced to sit with their legs pressed together. Alpine settled herself on his shoulder.

“You know why we’re all gathered here today,” Bucky started as solemnly as he could manage without laughing. “Our dear friend Steven has once again aged another year. Be fooled not by his young looks and golden hair, for the man sitting beside me is in fact a spry ninety-eight.”

Without missing a beat, Natasha continued in the same solemn tone. “Dermatologists hate him. They’ve spent years without success trying to discover his anti-aging secret-”

"Some have theorized that it was the trial of walking uphill both ways in raging blizzards and hurricanes just to get to school,” Sam continued.

"You want to fuck off with the old man stuff?” Steve asked before Bucky could continue. The smile in his eyes undercut his fake anger.

Natasha’s eyes widened. “Steven, your language!” she gasped, covering Bucky’s ears. “There are children present.” Bucky snorted.

Steve flipped her the bird. “If I’m the old person at this party, I can say whatever the fuck I want. Respect your elders.”

“I’ll respect my elder if my elder respects me.” She smiled sweetly at him.

Steve reached over Bucky and hit her arm. Nat punched him back.

“I’m pretty sure that counts as violence against elders,” Sam said as Nat hit him again. Neither Steve nor Natasha paid him any mind. Bucky watched as he took out his phone and assumed he was recording the spat. In order to let the half-assed battle more easily continue, Bucky leaned back.

“Ninety-eight-year-old man fights a young defenseless woman over the usage of foul language,” Sam narrated in a terrible Australian accent.

When Natasha somehow managed to land a hit on Steve’s hip, the battle ended. A pained look immediately crossed his face and his hand went to his hip.

“Jiminy Cricket, Natasha! You could’ve broken my hip.”

“Good thing I bought you this,” she replied, reaching over to grab the large box and sliding it across the floor. Bucky couldn’t help but grin in anticipation. The three of them had gotten together and coordinated their gifts. No matter what happened today, Steve would be thoroughly prepared for his older years. Steve took the box warily.

"Oh, excellent,” he muttered, tearing away the last of the wrapping paper to reveal a walker. “This is just excellent.”

Bucky tossed him the present from him and reveled in the growing exasperation in his expression as he unwrapped the knee braces for osteoarthritis. If Bucky was being honest with himself, he could probably benefit from them himself. The serum he’d been injected with hadn’t been quite as stable as Steve’s; there were mornings he woke up because of the pain in his knees and hips.

“You know I’m probably in better shape than all of you, right?” Steve asked, setting the box aside.

"That’s hilarious,” Natasha said, stretching out further on the couch and pushing Bucky closer to Steve. Bucky’s left leg now overlapped with Steve’s. Not that he minded.

“So grouchy,” Sam said. “All we’re doing here is planning for the future. Can’t blame us for being worried about our old man, can you?”

As he spoke, Natasha threw the box from Sam at Steve. He caught it deftly and sighed deeply before opening it.

“Oh, fuck off.” Bucky knew he was fighting off a laugh. “I think you could find more use for this than I could, Sam,” he said, holding up the life alert device.

“Man, I’m only thirty-eight. I’m in my prime.”

To his right, Natasha snorted. Sam spluttered at the insult. Steve caught Bucky’s eye and Bucky grinned. The gifts had been his idea, of course. He knew Steve knew that. He also knew Steve knew it was all in loving jest. Just because Bucky was technically older didn’t mean he couldn’t rub in the fact that his best friend was ancient.

When Steve’s stomach growled loud enough for them to all hear, Bucky ushered them to the table. “We have a strict feeding schedule for the old men in this household,” he told them. After seeing them to their correct places, Bucky moved into the kitchen. Steve followed him.

"You should be at the table entertaining your guests,” Bucky told him. He opened the fridge and took out the chicken salad. After putting it on the counter, he took out a cutting board and a knife, setting to work on slicing a tomato.

“I didn’t invite them,” Steve said. “So technically, they’re your guests.”

Bucky raised his brows.

Steve leaned against the counter, rubbing the cuff of his sweater. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

Bucky nodded to show he was listening.

“I want to go to Ireland.”

There was a loud crash in the dining room. Steve sighed, rubbed his hand over his face, and left the kitchen for damage control. From his place at the counter, Bucky could just see Natasha sitting on Sam. He shook his head and turned his attention back to the board.

“If you break anything in my house, I’m never inviting you back,” Bucky heard Steve say. He snorted at the use of his Captain voice. If they replied, Bucky didn’t hear.

When he set lunch on the table, both of them were sitting with expressions of perfect innocence. Natasha batted her eyelashes at him. Steve glowered at them. Sam reached out for a croissant and Bucky issued him a death stare.

"Haven’t you ever been taught that your elders get to take food first?” he asked.

"With the amount you two “elders” eat, hell naw,” Sam replied, now scooping the chicken salad onto the bread. He topped it with lettuce, cheese, and tomato.

Natasha wisely allowed Steve to take food next. They ate in silence for a while. Alpine came and lounged on Bucky’s shoulder. He absentmindedly scratched her head.

"So you left Wakanda a cat person?” Sam asked.

“Looks like it,” Bucky replied, taking a small piece of chicken and feeding it to her. She purred.

"Retirement’s suiting you well then?” Natasha grabbed another croissant and filled it. One of her knees was folded under her while the other was pressed against the table.

“Haven’t yet burned down the house,” Bucky replied. He took a bite and swallowed, thinking. “But that might be because I don’t allow Steve to cook anything more than anything else.”

“That was one time!” Steve spluttered.

“Yeah, because I’m not taking the risk of you burning down our house! And frankly, your cooking is shit.”

“You let me make pancakes,” Steve pointed out. 

“That’s different.”

“How is that different? I’m still at a stove.”

"Because you don’t have a bag of powdered cheese to set on fire,” Bucky told him. He still didn’t understand how Steve managed to catch the package on fire.

“Okay, so if my cooking is so shit, why do you let me make the batter?”

“Because I gave you the recipe and I never leave you unsupervised.”

“I’m insulted, Buck. Do you really have you so little faith in my cooking ability?”

“I put you in charge of making boxed macaroni and cheese, left the kitchen for a minute, and came back to see everything on fire.” If he hadn’t been so worried about their house burning down, it would have been quite funny.

He watched Steve turn to Natasha for help. She simply took another bite, watching the argument with growing interest. Sam offered no assistance.

“Bless my heart, they’re bickering,” he said, turning to Natasha. “They really are old men.”

Steve sighed deeply and rubbed his hands over his face.

"What’s next on the old man schedule?” Natasha asked after finishing her last bite. “Bridge? Pinochle? Cribbage?”

“What’s next is that this old man is going to kick your ass while throwing a burrito at your head,” Bucky told her. He hadn’t told anyone about the game he’d found while at the store yesterday.

Sam raised his eyebrows. Natasha smirked.

“Uh, what?” Steve asked.

Ten minutes later, they were in the basement they’d transformed into a makeshift gym, circled around a table, five cards in hand. Two stuffed burritos were in the center along with a stack of cards.

“Throw Throw Burrito,” Bucky told them. “The rules are simple: make three-way matches. You get a three-way match of burritos, you get to pelt a burrito. Do not break my house.” If this had been around when they were children, there would have been nothing but chaos in the Rogers’ household. As it was now, there would be nothing but chaos in their household. But that was nothing new.

Steve threw a glance at Bucky, a mischievous glint in his eye. He threw a furtive glance towards Sam. Bucky nodded. With a scan of his cards, Bucky drew one from the center pile and passed it along to Steve. The first few minutes of the game were innocuous. At the sight of his next card, Bucky grinned. Victorious, he set down a match of dueling burritos.

“I do hereby challenge thee, Samuel Wilson, to a burrito duel,” he said, picking up the stuffed burrito closest to him.

"I accept your challenge, tin man,” Sam replied, grabbing the other burrito.

He walked to the dueling ground. Sam followed. Steve and Natasha stood side by side, watching with interest.

"Old west style,” Bucky said. “Standing back to back, walk three paces, turn and fire your weapon. Steve, you call draw.”

Sam nodded. “I hope you’re ready old man.”

They went back to back. Natasha whistled the old west theme. Best sniper the US Army had ever had, the poor fool didn’t have a chance. As a master assassin, hell would be kinder. They took their three steps. He momentarily considered taking it easy. Momentarily. He shifted the burrito to his left hand. There would be no mercy. Bucky turned.

There was silence as they faced each other, burritos held against their hips. Bucky narrowed his eyes, letting the Soldier concentration take over. Sam licked his lips.

“Draw.”

The burrito hadn’t even left Sam’s hand by the time Bucky’s hit its mark. Sam crumpled, his hands immediately moving to cover his crotch. Natasha and Steve cackled. Bucky sighed contentedly. Old man or not, he could still hit his mark. 

“That was a low blow,” Sam grumbled, wincing as he stood. “That doesn’t count. I demand a rematch. No crotch shots, no fake arm. Just skill against skill.”

Bucky shrugged and retrieved his burrito. “Your funeral. Call draw again, Steve.”

This time, the burrito hit him straight in the throat.

Sam was wincing with every step by the time they went upstairs thirty minutes later. Every burrito thrown during the remainder of the game had hit him. Knowing full well Natasha could kill them without exerting any effort, Steve and Bucky had rallied their efforts at the bird. Natasha had thanked them by doing the same.

“Old men are vicious,” Sam muttered, collapsing on the chair and nursing his various injuries. When thrown by two serum-enhanced men, even a stuffed burrito could hit hard enough to bruise.

“You’re the one who kept demanding rematches,” Steve reminded him. “You could have conceded defeat, but I guess the thought of being beat by your elders and a ‘defenseless young woman’ was too much for the ego.”

Sam just harrumphed. Natasha, Steve and Bucky returned to their places on the couch. This time, Natasha nearly lay flat, forcing Steve to basically sit on Bucky’s lap. Bucky glanced at her. She raised her eyebrows. He intensified his glare and jerked his head towards the hallway. She rolled her eyes and stood, disappearing momentarily. Steve shifted himself off Bucky’s lap; their knees still touched, but his butt was fully on the couch. When Natasha returned, she held three more gifts in her hand. Steve groaned.

“Happy birthday, Steve,” she said, handing him the pile. Steve took them warily. Natasha curled cat-like at the edge of the couch.

Bucky held his breath. These were the presents he was most excited for. Hesitant, Steve picked up the top gifts: Sam’s. A ribbon held two presents together. As he ripped away the wrapping paper, a soft smile crossed his face. The room immediately grew brighter.

He held up a new sketchpad and a case of pencils and paints. “Thank you, Sam.”

Sam nodded graciously. Steve set them aside and picked up the second large gift: Natasha’s.

“Hope all this newfangled technology won’t bamboozle you too much,” Natasha teased as Steve looked at the art tablet in his lap.

“I think I’ll figure it out,” Steve replied, reading the back of the box. Still smiling, he set the box aside.

Bucky held his breath when he picked up his present. The other two presents, he knew Steve would be happy with. He could have easily stepped over the line with his. Steve had thrown it away for a reason. His fingers drummed against his legs as Steve carefully opened the envelope and folded the packet inside.

“No. You can’t be serious. Bucky.” The surprise and excitement blooming on his face told Bucky he was in the clear.

“I saw your application in the recycling. Even though I know you were trying to hide that you were working on it, I also know how hard you worked on it. And even the blind bird over there can see how happy you are when you’re working on your art. So I sent it in. This came back a few days ago.” 

“I got in?”

Bucky nodded. “I might have used my resources to create some letters of recommendation as all your previous instructors are dead, but you did all the work.”

“I got in.” The disbelief in his voice amused Bucky. Only Steve Rogers would have museum worthy art and not believe he was good enough for NYU’s studio arts program.

“Hell yeah, you did,” Natasha said. “Watch out art world, we have a grad student in the house.”

***

It was dark when Sam and Natasha finally headed to the door. Throwing the party hat on the end table, Steve collapsed on the couch, still reeling from the events of the day. The shenanigans hadn’t surprised him; he’d expected the jokes and the bullshit gifts. What he hadn’t expected was to get into grad school. He still wasn’t particularly sure how he’d gotten in, but the letter of acceptance in his hand was irrefutable truth. If he accepted, he’d be an art student again. Even the thought of it brought a thrill of excitement.

Sam and Natasha finally ushered out the door, Bucky collapsed on the couch. “I swear, if I had to ask them to leave my house one more time, there would’ve been murder.”

“I appreciate you not spilling blood on my birthday.”

“So any other day is free real estate?” Bucky stretched out, settling his legs across Steve’s.

"As long as it doesn’t conflict with any major holidays.” Steve tossed the acceptance packet onto the end table and sank lower into the cushions, resting his arms on Bucky’s legs. He sighed in contentment. This was all he’d really needed today. Everything else had just been a bonus.

“You’re not mad that I mailed in your application, are you?” Bucky asked after a few minutes of comfortable silence. “I just didn’t want to see all your hard work go to waste, especially on something that makes you as happy as art.”

"No, Buck, I’m glad you did.”

"Why did you throw it out?”

Steve shrugged, suddenly self-conscious. “I’ve been mocked my entire life for wanting to be an artist. After this,” he gestured to his body, “fighting was the only thing I was deemed qualified for. I guess trying to move away from that, I felt like an imposter. Even though this makes me happy, it wasn’t the path other people saw for me. And I didn't think I was good enough; still don't.”

"So what changed?”

“I’m allowed to be happy.” It was the first time he’d said it without simply repeating the words.

“So you’re going to accept?”

“I don’t know.” The thought of being a student excited him, but it also felt restrictive. He was out of the fight, but he needed to be available in case anything came up. Being who he was, he knew they’d make exceptions, but that was the problem. He didn’t want to be the exception. His entire life, he’d been the exception. “But thank you.”

“For?”

“For always believing I could. For giving me the chance.” Even if he didn’t take it, just knowing he had it was everything he didn’t know he’d needed. He was more than the fight. And that meant everything.

“You never got into quite as many fights when you had something you were working on. You were always happier. It’s the same now. I wasn’t going to let you throw that away.”

“Thank you.”

Bucky smiled softly. Alpine stretched herself out across Bucky’s legs, purring. Steve scratched her ears. Bucky closed his eyes and let out a long breath. As he relaxed, his features became almost delicate. God, he was beautiful. He’d always been beautiful. Steve would never understand how he got so lucky to have him as his best friend.

“Hey, Buck?” He hated needing to break the spell, but if they didn’t have this conversation now, they never would. Bucky grunted to show that he was listening.

“I want to go to Ireland.”

Bucky opened his eyes and sat up slightly. His feet curled into Steve’s stomach as he shifted positions. Interest ignited his eyes. “When are we going?”

Steve had chewed on his next words for the better part of the past hour. Even though it was what he needed, it still felt incredibly selfish. He hated the thought of taking away the excitement that filled Bucky. But this was what he needed and he needed to honor that.

“I want to go alone.”

If Bucky was disappointed, he didn’t show it. “When are you thinking about going?”

A large weight lifted from Steve’s shoulders. “I’m not sure yet. Before Christmas, maybe? I know Nat has both Halloween and Thanksgiving planned for us, and I’m sure as hell not missing those.”

"Wise. You’d be watching your back for the rest of the year, that’s for sure.”

"My Christmas present would most likely kill me.”

Bucky smirked. “Knowing Nat, they’ll be able to kill you anyway.”

Steve laughed. Outside, the fireworks started. Alpine startled, whisking out of sight. Murmuring something Steve didn’t catch, Bucky stood and disappeared into the kitchen. The microwave hummed. Bucky returned with two plates in his hands. Motioning with his head, he opened the back door and disappeared into the dark garden. He settled himself on the grass beside Bucky and took the plate.

“Happy birthday, Stevie.”

“Thank you, Buck.”

Shoulders brushing, apple cake in hand, and fireworks lighting the sky above them, it felt like nothing had changed. When they finished eating, they lay back, the grass cushioning them, and watched the colorful display in silence. Steve made sure not to keep his eyes closed for too long. As long as he saw the lights, he remembered where he was. At one point, he became aware of Bucky’s hand in his. He didn’t know who took whose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.throwthrowburrito.com/


	8. Chapter 8

August and September passed in a blur. October flurried in with a snap of frosted mornings that lasted the entire month. Bucky busied himself in his garden, covering the more delicate flowers with burlap. He was going to miss looking out and seeing the flush of color; it had always been a comfort. It had been something he had cultivated. But even if the outdoors were changing, the house would remain green. Steve hadn’t said anything when he returned home from therapy a few days ago with another pallet of plants. He’d just sighed and helped disperse them around the house.

Spray bottle in hand, Bucky walked through the rooms, watering the plants that needed a boost. A few of his cacti were beginning to flower. He brushed them fondly and moved onto the living room. Alpine wound her way between his legs before springing up and situating herself on his left shoulder. She had claimed it as her own and was rarely found anywhere else. Bucky couldn’t say he minded in the least. It made him feel normal.

"Hey, Buck.” Steve walked into the living room, frowning at his phone. “Nat is requiring we dress up tomorrow, although I don’t know why she feels justified in issuing demands when we’re hosting.”

“I told you to expect this, Steve. But you said, ‘no, it’s my house, I can do what I want.’” He’d been working on his own costume since the start of the month. He just needed to add the last finishing touches and he’d be done. With Shuri’s special delivery, there was no doubt in his mind that he would have the best costume.

“I know. But seriously, what is she going to do, kick us out of our own house?”

“Or a sparring session with no rules.” In the conversations Bucky had had with her since Steve’s birthday, she’d been dropping hints at wanting to do something of that nature.

Steve shuddered. “That’s worse. Shitty costume it is.”

Bucky shrugged. “Doesn’t sound too bad to me, but then again, I don’t have to comply to your moral compass.” 

Steve looked affronted, opened his mouth to speak and promptly closed it. “I really can’t argue with that,” he finally said.

"Have any ideas?”

Steve rubbed his face. “I can’t even remember the last time I celebrated Halloween, let alone dressed up. I don’t even know where to begin.”

“How committed are you to the cause?”

“If I’m expected to be in costume when Nat arrives tomorrow at 8am, I have less than 10 hours to pull this off. I’m not sure how detailed this can be, and I’m not going to buy anything new.”

Bucky thought for a second, drumming his fingers against his thigh. He set the spray bottle on the end table. “Let me see your closet.”

Steve led the way to his room and opened the doors to his closet and began rummaging through the piles of sweaters and sweatshirts. “When I was in Bucharest, I read everything I could get my hands on. One day, I came across a comic from the 60s, _The Fantastic Four_.” Finding the dark blue sweater he was looking for, he pulled it out and tossed it to Steve. “Their suits were blue spandex. Just throw on the pants of your suit and your boots, pin a large, white four on your chest, and you’re on fire.”

Steve folded the sweater in his arms. “Okay, but who am I?”

Bucky cracked a grin. “Johnny Storm, also known as the Human Torch.”

“Jesus Christ,” Steve muttered. He should be happy Bucky had managed to make this work. His other idea had been securing a large piece of wood to his back and making him a popsicle.

“If you really want to get into it, you can shave, but I personally think Johnny Storm would look fantastic with a beard.” Plus, Steve’s beard was beautiful, but he wasn’t going to say that out loud.

“I’m not shaving.”

_Good._

***

“Jesus Christ,” Steve muttered, looking at himself in the mirror. In addition to the large four over his heart, Bucky had crafted flames from construction paper and secured them to his sweater and pants, giving the terrible illusion that he was on fire. Shaking his head, he left his room.

Bucky was in the kitchen, carefully measuring flour into their largest bowl. He looked mildly annoyed. Tiny chocolate tarts were already cooling on wire racks.

“Wha-”

“At precisely 4:59am, Natasha issued a bake-off that will apparently be judged promptly after her arrival,” Bucky told him without looking up. “But surprise, not being able to sleep does wonders for your ability to pull off multiple desserts.”

He looked up and a wicked grin crossed his face when he locked eyes with Steve. “I’m a genius. An absolute genius. Even Natasha can’t argue with that costume.”

Steve looked down. “I look like an idiot.”

"No, you look exactly like Johnny Storm. Honestly, if you’d had the time to ask Shuri to make you the suit, people would be hard-pressed to tell the difference between the two of you.” He whisked more ingredients together. “Actually, you look more like Johnny Storm than your own comic rendition. They really did you an injustice.”

Rolling his eyes, Steve dipped a finger into the bowl. Bucky hit him with the whisk, somehow managing not to spray his sweater with the batter.

“I will not have you messing up these cakes,” he said. “Knowing Natasha, she’ll make up any reason to demote points, and I will not lose a bake-off in my own house because of your grubby fingers.”

Steve licked the batter from his finger and coughed. “Jesus Christ, Bucky. What’s in this?”

“A healthy dose of vodka.” He began to fill the molds with the spiced batter. “Just because we can’t get drunk doesn’t mean our guests can’t.”

"You’re horrible,” Steve said, trying to fight a grin. “Really, you’re terrible.”

“If it puts me ahead, I’ll do anything,” Bucky said. “But you’re incredibly naïve if you think Nat will be affected by vodka, no matter how much I put in both of my desserts.”

"I’m not thinking about Nat.” Steve had only seen Sam drunk once. It was an experience he couldn’t quite put into words. There had been a lot of singing. Sam, of course, had denied the claim when Bucky had asked about it. After the influx of old man jokes, he was ready to get back at him.

There was a wicked smirk on Bucky’s face as he put the pan in the oven and set the timer. “Oh, I’m ready to see the bird drunk.”

He returned to the counter and started separating egg whites, barely watching what he was doing. Steve watched in amazement as he whipped up a meringue with little effort. With a practiced flick of the wrist, he plopped the meringue on top of the chocolate tarts. After topping all of them, he took a toothpick dipped in chocolate and created little faces for the ghosts.

“Cute,” Steve said.

Bucky cocked his head, staring at them. “I was going for frightening, but I guess the vodka will take care of that.”

“Sam’s not going to know what hit him.” There was a moment of silence. Bucky leaned against the counter. The longer Steve thought about the unknowing consumption of who knows how much vodka, the more the smile fell from his face. “Are we the assholes in this situation?”

Bucky raised his eyebrows. “We are never the assholes in a situation that involves Sam.”

Steve acknowledged the truth of the statement with a dip of his head. He leaned against the counter beside Bucky. The paper crinkled. Bucky snickered.

Steve sighed deeply. “I still can’t believe you’re making me wear paper flames.” Honestly, it was embarrassing. The irony about him being on fire after being frozen was not lost on him.

“Would you rather spar against Nat with no rules?” 

“No.” He shuddered again. “What’s your costume?”

Bucky let a grin cross his face. “You’ll see.”

“Well, you’re running out of time,” Steve told him, turning to glance at the clock. It was 7:45. “Unless you’re just stringing me along, it’ll be hell in a handbasket if you’re not dressed.”

“Nat can kiss my ass. I’m not scared of sparring with no rules. Hell, I invented sparring with no rules.” 

Steve stared at him. “So you’re making me wear this shitty ass costume with paper flames all day, and you’re not even going to get into costume until you feel like it?”

“Guilty as charged.” His smile was so shit-eatingly large Steve wanted to smack him. The doorbell was the only thing that saved him. Grumbling, Steve left the kitchen.

At first glance, Natasha had dressed up as herself. The only difference was that instead of black leather, she wore a suit of tight blue spandex; the S.H.I.E.L.D logo and utility belt were the same. It was when he spotted Sam in a black leather trench coat and eye-patch he understood.

“If you expect me to call you Director, you’re not invited into my house,” he told Sam.

Sam looked crestfallen. Steve let them in and walked back to the kitchen before Natasha could say anything. Bucky needed to be there to share the blame for his half-assed costume. While it was Steve’s fault for not taking his warning seriously, the construction paper pinned to him was all Bucky.

“Still working, Barnes? Tsk.” Natasha set a pie and a plate of something Steve couldn’t recognize on the counter. The top crust of the pie had been latticed into an intricate spider.

“Piroshki?” Bucky asked, taking a glance at the plate. Natasha nodded. He continued whisking icing together. Steve didn’t even want to guess how much vodka he’d put in it. They were definitely in for an interesting day.

“So, where’s the costume, tin man?” Sam asked, having just come in from lugging four ginormous pumpkins.

Bucky shot a glance towards Natasha. “Had you not informed me at 5am this morning that there would be a bake-off, I would be in costume right now. So this?” He gestured to his sweatpants and black t-shirt. “This is effectively your fault.”

Sam sucked in a breath. Natasha quirked an eyebrow. Steve watched both of them carefully.

“You want to go a round, Barnes? No rules, no weapons, just skill against skill?”

“As soon as these cakes are out of the oven and cooling. You can start planning your funeral now, if it pleases you.”

Natasha snorted. “In your dreams.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and went to take out the pan.

Ten minutes later, they were in the basement. Natasha sat on the padded flooring, stretching out. Bucky tied his hair up. He’d moved Alpine to Steve’s shoulder a moment prior. Steve scratched her head, enjoying the comforting weight. 

“If I win,” Natasha said, leaning deep into her splits, “both you and Steve need to refer to Sam as Director for the rest of the day.”

Steve spluttered.

Bucky nodded. “Done.”

“Why do I need to get dragged into this? I’m in costume!”

Natasha dragged her gaze down his body, lingering on the construction paper. “Whatever you say, Johnny Storm. Unfortunately, the fact that you look exactly like him doesn’t excuse you from having a shitty costume. You either agree to the stipulation, or you’re in the ring next.”

He was going to say something about it being his house, but he really wasn’t in the mood to spar. “Fine,” he muttered.

“Now, if I win,” Bucky said, taking his socks off, “you and Sam both have to tell Fury and Hill you used their likenesses as costumes. On speakerphone.”

“Fine,” Natasha said, holding out her hand. Bucky took it, sealing the deal.

Sam, on the other hand, spluttered his objections. Steve smirked. Though he didn’t have a good enough grasp on Fury to know how he’d react, he could just imagine the panic Sam would go through in the moments before they picked up.

Bucky and Natasha faced each other, both in a wide stance. Natasha moved first, dropping low with a sweeping kick. Bucky avoided her with ease, managing to get a light tap in when she attempted to get behind him.

It was terrifying, watching them go at each other with no rules to hold them back. Steve had fought both of them on multiple occasions. Even with rules, a small part of him had been positive he wouldn't make it out of the ring with Nat. Not that he'd cared at the time. The last time he'd fought Bucky, he had nearly died. But that had been more of his own unwillingness to fight more than anything else. 

Watching the two of them move with prestigious skills and astonishing speed was both awe-inspiring and terrifying. The entire first half of the fight, Steve was positive Bucky was going to win. While they’d had some hand-to-hand combat, Natasha hadn’t yet managed to get a solid hold. Steve sucked in a breath when she grabbed hold of his left arm. With practiced ease, Bucky brought his right hand to his shoulder. Natasha stumbled back, metal arm in hand. She shrugged and tossed it to Steve, who managed to catch it without disrupting Alpine.

Somehow managing to get behind Bucky, Natasha jumped up, wrapping her legs around his neck. It was a move Steve had been subjected to many times. Without his left arm, the extra weight unbalanced him. Both of them fell. Pining his right arm down with a leg, she sat on his knees.

“I win.”

Bucky harrumphed, but couldn’t manage to throw her off. Beside him, Sam laughed triumphantly. Steve groaned. He would be insufferable for the rest of the day. Finally conceding, Natasha rolled off him and returned to her feet. Bucky took off his shirt and held out his hand for his arm. Steve carefully handed it back. Readjusting the black protective sleeve, he reattached the metal limb. Rolling his shoulder, he stood and put his shirt back on. Steve found he could breathe again.

Retying his hair, Bucky came to stand by him. Alpine jumped to his shoulder. “I let her win,” he told Steve quietly. Alpine pushed her head against his cheek, purring loudly. She could never get close enough to him to be happy.

“Sure, really looked like it.”

“Think of it this way,” Bucky started, glancing at Nat. She was conversing with Sam in much the same way they were. “She’ll be much more amiable now that she’d got that out of the way. Had I won, which I could have easily done, you most likely would’ve been in the ring right now.”

“So you’re telling me you lost because of your overwhelming need to be a good person? Gee, I’m touched, Buck.” Steve prayed his sarcasm was clear. However, he couldn’t ignore the truth of the statement.

Bucky broke into a grin. “Not at all. I was thinking about the ‘Director’ getting shit-faced.”

Steve nodded. “I’ll take that.”

“Hey, Bird! Oh, sorry, _‘Director’._” Bucky scoffed when he said the word. “You ready to be blown away by my baking expertise?”

“You know what a kitchen is?” Sam asked in reply.

“The first thing you’re going to do when you get upstairs is get into costume,” Natasha told him. “Unless you want to lose again, which I am happy to oblige to. I’ve missed sparring with someone who poses a challenge.”

“As fun as that sounds, I think I’ll pass. But I think you should know, I’m truly not in costume right now so you three don’t feel so inferior.”

He caught Steve’s eye, winked, and headed upstairs.

“What’s his costume?” Natasha asked as they walked to the living room. Steve glanced down the hall to see that Bucky’s bedroom door was closed.

“Honestly, I have no idea.” Whenever he’d been working, he’d shut himself in his room. Something about _not wanting to spoil the fun_. Steve hadn’t really cared. It was just nice to see him working on something he was super excited about.

Steve heard the door open. Music began to play.

Sam narrowed his eyes. “Is the man playing the throne room theme from _A New Hope?”_

Steve cocked his head to better hear the faint music. Over the past month, they’d watched all six movies multiple times, and the music was incredibly familiar to him. “I think he is.”

When the trumpets entered, Bucky made his entrance. Steve did a double-take. Lightsaber in hand and hood up, he looked exactly like Luke Skywalker. He twirled the lightsaber. Steve was pleased to know it made the same _whooshing _sounds as in the films. Alpine still sat on his shoulder, wearing a green coat and large green ears. Of course she was his Yoda. Steve didn’t know why he was surprised.

“Okay, I’ll give you it,” Natasha said when he walked in. “That is pretty good.”

“I told you you’d feel inferior,” Bucky reminded her, sheathing the blade and hanging it on his belt.

Steve shifted slightly to make room for him on the couch. He now felt incredibly stupid in his sweater and pants. If he’d known this level of accuracy would be standard, he’d have helped Bucky do better than construction paper flames. He’d probably have had Shuri make him a suit with synthetic flames.

But he had to remember why he didn’t want to dress up in the first place—he’d done it his entire life. This was the longest he’d gotten to just be Steve Rogers. Absentmindedly, he put his hand into his pocket and rolled the compass between his fingers, letting its warm familiarity keep him grounded.

"Oh, I don’t feel inferior,” Natasha told him. “I still obviously have the best costume here.”

Steve squinted at Natasha. It took him a minute to figure out what he was looking for. “Does Hill know you’re wearing her suit?” he asked, suddenly realizing why it looked so accurate. It wasn’t a costume at all.

Natasha just smirked. Bucky tried to look scandalized. Sam let out an unexpected cackle.

"The two of them just switched suits,” he informed them gleefully. “So, I think it’s cheating.”

She was unfazed. “I’m just utilizing my resources. I just so happened to have Hill over, we were talking and agreed to switch for the day.”

While she was talking, Sam placed air quotes around _just so happened_. Steve huffed a laugh. He was happy they were able to start making a new life for themselves as well.

“You have something to say to me, Samuel?” Natasha asked without turning to face him; she was issuing a glare at Steve.

"No, ma’am.”

“So are we ever going to get onto this bake-off?” Bucky grumbled. “I was in the kitchen at 5 this morning because of your terrible communication skills.”

“Bring in the desserts,” Steve seconded as Bucky stood. “Please.”

Natasha looked at Steve for a moment longer, gaze lingering on the paper flames, before standing up and following Bucky into the kitchen.

"So Nat and Hill?” Steve asked Sam.

Sam shrugged. The eyepatch distorted his raised eyebrows. “I don’t know, man. Sometimes it’s easier to just smile and nod.”

Steve breathed a laugh. “That’s fair.”

“Seems like you and the tin man are doing well.”

Steve looked towards the kitchen, where they were carefully plating their desserts. Bucky dropped his head back in a laugh. Steve smiled. “Yeah, things are good. We’re both healing.” He let himself think about the nights spent in laughter. “It’s been really good.”

There was an amused look in Sam's right eye.

"What?”

Sam just shook his head. “Nothing.”

Bucky and Natasha returned to the living room, plates in hand. He set one plate on the end table for Natasha before handing the other to Sam.

“Eat up, _Director_.” There was a wicked gleam in his eyes when he sat back beside Steve.

Natasha passed her plates over to Steve and Bucky before curling back on the couch. The slice of pie looked delicious. The warm berries oozing out onto the plate smelled heavenly. The piroshki beside it was a beautiful golden brown. He’d never expected Natasha to be able to bake, but it didn’t surprise him. The moment someone underestimated her was the exact moment they lost.

After holding the plate up to eye-level to examine the desserts, Sam picked up the spiced cake. Steve set down his fork. The pie could wait. Watching Sam get drunk from eating Bucky’s desserts was most important. Natasha had already taken a bite and nodded slowly, a smile curling on her lips. She too turned to watch Sam, who seemed oblivious to being the spectacle.

He took a bite, nodding thoughtfully. After a slight pause, he took another bite and set it back on the plate. “I appreciate the notes of cinnamon and cardamom, although there is a slight lingering aftertaste I can’t quite put my finger on,” he said slowly. “The consistency is wonderful—moist, but not too heavy.”

Steve stared at him. Bucky’s tongue froze between his lips. Natasha’s eyebrow quirked.

Sam noticed the stares. “What? My sister’s a baker. I hadda learn real quick howta be helpful in the kitchen.”

Steve pressed his lips together, suppressing laughter. It was going to be good day. Sam picked up the tart. After examining it thoroughly, he took a large bite, dusting away the crumbs that fell on his jacket.

"Nice smoothness to the chocolate. Super rich without being over the top. Again, there’sa slight aftertaste, but overall, it goes very well with the chocolate.” He took another bite. “You mighthave some competition, Nat.”

“Please, continue,” Natasha told him. “Let me know how I compare to the Jedi.”

Steve took a bite of the piroshki while Sam examined his second plate. The blueberries were bursting with flavor and the sugary crunch of the crust provided the texture the bite needed. He swallowed, coughed, and caught Nat’s eye, trying not to laugh at the smug expression. Sam really was in for an interesting day.

"Did y’all have a secret ingredient I don’t know about?” Sam asked after taking a bite of the piroshki.

"Just an enormous amount of love for the _Director_,” Bucky informed him.

Natasha snorted. “I’ll drink to that. Now please, continue. How does my pie stand up to the fierce competition you’ve placed me in?”

Sam looked at the three of them. A streak of blueberry colored his left cheek. Steve fought to keep a straight face when he started to speak. “Why am I the only one critiquing?” His words were just slightly beginning to slur together.

Bucky took a bite of the piroshki at the same time Natasha picked up the spiced cake. With a glare at both of them, Steve answered. “As the Director, you have such an expertise. We don’t want to crowd your moment with our inability to articulate the notes of perfection that are within both of them.”

Sam raised his eyebrows, but said nothing, only moving to take a bite of the pie. Based on Natasha’s face, it also had a hearty share of vodka. A small part of Steve wondered if they had planned this in order to give Sam grief, but the quiet grunt of surprise Bucky had when he tasted her desserts had him guessing the answer was no.

“The crust is suf-” he frowned, smacking his lips together quietly. A myriad of emotions crossed his face in a very short timeframe. He took another bite of pie and chewed slowly. A deadpan slowly set in. His visible pupil was just beginning to dilate. “How much vodka?”

Natasha looked scandalized, lightly touching her hand over her heart. Bucky shrugged. “I honestly can’t remember. A lot. I needed to make sure there would still be enough alcohol after baking.”

Sam trained his glare on Steve. “Moral compass?”

Steve just shrugged. “According to you, I’m but a feeble old man. Who am I to stop the actions of these young whippersnappers?” He wasn’t about to admit to wanting to see him drunk.

This time, Natasha cackled.

Steve paused in his carving, trying to figure out the best way to attack the particular intricate portion of the design he’d crafted for the exceptionally large pumpkin in front of him. Natasha and Bucky sat beside him in the backyard, working on their own. Sam, who was now having difficulties walking in a straight line, was playing with Alpine in the yard. He’d discarded the eyepatch. A large bottle of water was beside him, along with a glass of punch. Sam had required it to be made in front of him to ensure nothing of suspicion was included.

Despite Bucky’s skill with a knife, and Natasha’s unexpectedly good carving skills, Steve knew he was going to win this challenge. Of course, he hadn’t been allowed to participate in the last one because Bucky didn’t allow him to make anything more than pancakes. Not that he was any good at baking. But this, this was his territory. He might have deferred his admission to NYU (he wasn’t saying no, he just wasn’t quite ready to take on that commitment yet), but he still thousands of hours of practice under his belt.

He snuck a glimpse at the skull Natasha was crafting. It was good, he’d admit that, but it was nothing compared to his own _Starry Night. _Bucky, never the artist despite Steve’s attempts, had created a simple spider hanging from a thread. Steve shifted the knife in his hand and continued working, scraping away part of the rind to allow the light to shine through.

"Show off,” Bucky muttered. Steve grinned and continued working.

***

The entire front of Bucky shirt was drenched. He knew Natasha was doubled up in laughter behind him as he bent forward over the bucket again, trying to position himself over an apple without bonking heads with Steve. Again.

Apple bobbing had been Sam’s mandate. Natasha had required that the two winners of the last challenges go head to head to find the ultimate winner. It had been no use in arguing. So, Jedi robes off and safely in his room, hair tied back, and positioned over the large bucket Sam had brought, he waited for Sam to call start. Steve waited in much of the same position. His sweater had been discarded, leaving him in a white tank top. Bucky kept his eyes firmly on the apples.

"And bob,” Sam instructed.

Taking a deep breath, Bucky plunged his head in the water, displacing the apple he’d so perfectly lined up with. He growled when he connected with Steve again. Resurfacing briefly to refill his air supply, he plunged down again, this time successfully grabbing an apple. He moved to surface only to find himself face to face with Steve. Somehow, they’d managed to grab the same apple. Steve grabbed it and threw it in his bucket, cheeks red.

"Looks like our Johnny Storm is doused,” Natasha snickered. Bucky looked down. The entire front of Steve was drenched, molding the ribbed material of the tank top to his body. His heartrate quickened.

"You know what, Natasha?” Steve asked, glaring at her. “It’s your turn now. You and Sam.”

He came to sit beside Bucky, wrapping a blanket around himself. In the late afternoon, the wind had started to pick up and it was getting a bit chilly. Wet shirts did nothing to help.

Grumbling indecipherably to himself, Sam took his position across from Natasha. He had to hold the bucket to keep himself steady. Needless to say, it did not go well. Even hours later, Bucky wouldn’t be able to understand how Sam fell into the bucket, but the pictures were everything he didn’t know he needed.

By the time they left after dinner, Bucky was exhausted. Finally showered, warm and comfortable in a pair of worn sweatpants and a t-shirt, he plopped himself beside Steve on the couch and stretched out. Steve shifted himself slightly to reposition his sketchbook. The faint outline of a face was just beginning to take shape. Bucky watched him for a little while, enjoying how relaxed he looked as he worked. He didn’t look like he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. This was the medium he’d chosen. He didn’t need to prove himself.

Content, Bucky closed his eyes and listened to the soft rhythm of Steve’s pencil. There was no hesitation in the confident strokes. When his pencil had been still for long enough for him to know he wasn’t just thinking about his next move, Bucky opened his eyes and looked up. Steve stared unseeingly, his sketchbook set aside. He picked at his nails. Bucky reached over and took his hand. Steve startled slightly, awareness returning.

"You okay?” Bucky asked.

Steve blinked. “Yeah. Just thinking.” He traced the scars on Bucky’s palm with feather-light fingers. An odd expression burned in his eyes. Bucky prayed he didn’t take the blame for them. Nothing about him was Steve’s fault.

“Anything in particular?”

Steve replied in the negative far too quickly for it to be believable, but Bucky just nodded. He wasn’t going to push; Steve would talk when he needed to and when he was ready. Instead of asking more questions like he wanted to, he stood and crouched in front of the television, grabbed the DVD he had at the ready, and placed it in the player. When he returned to the couch, Steve already had the remote in hand and was working through the menu for _Scooby-Doo! Where are You? _

They were halfway through the first episode when he moved so his head was in Steve’s lap. Steve settled his arms across his shoulders. Bucky sighed. Not long ago, it seemed like they would never have returned to the amount of comfortability they with each other when they were kids. He would have cringed away from the contact. Now, this was the only thing he needed. Old Halloween cartoons with questionable villains, a comfortable couch, and Steve.

With Steve focused on the Mystery Gang, Bucky found himself focusing on him. The way his laughter made his eyes crinkle; the way he absentmindedly started playing with Bucky’s hair; how the bags beneath his eyes were starting to disappear. With a small jolt, he realized they were both starting to heal. With everything they’d gone through, part of him never thought it was possible. This had always been the dream.

Steve looked down at him and caught his gaze. A small smile softened his features. Bucky’s heart beat a smidge faster. It was the small, crooked smile he never gave to anyone else. God, he was beautiful. God, was Bucky in love with him. God, did he want to kiss him. Bucky shifted so he was sitting upright. He was going to. If it was selfish, so be it. After seventy years of being told what to do, he was allowed to do what would make him happy. He’d already done it once; it was still a vague memory, but he remembered. And if he remembered correctly, Steve had kissed him back.

Steve’s expression shifted and he moved so he faced the tv again, head on Bucky’s shoulder. “I miss Peggy,” he finally said, his voice no more than a whisper. Like he was ashamed for admitting it. Bucky’s gut twisted when he saw the compass in Steve’s hand. Of course he was still grieving.

“She would’ve loved today,” he continued. “Seeing us happy, seeing us moving forward after everything we’ve been through.” Bucky watched his face scrunch. “I know she lived her life, and I feel so selfish even thinking this, but there are times I wish something would’ve happened so she could be here.”

Bucky didn’t know what to say. If anyone should feel selfish, it was him. Alpine walked onto his lap and curled up, purring. Bucky scratched her head.

“I don’t want to go back and change the past if it means I wouldn’t get to be here now; I made my choice and I’ve made peace with it. This-” he spread out his hands to gesture to the living room, “this is everything I never thought I’d be able to have. I just miss her.”

Bucky nodded. While he hadn’t known Peggy as well as Steve had, it was easy to see how happy she made him. She’d recognized him before he was Captain America; he knew how much that meant to him. She was the first person Steve had loved. It was unfair for Bucky to expect him to be fine when it had been less than a year since she died. Bucky knew he wouldn’t have been able to move on if it was Steve who had died.

“She’d be happy to see your progress,” Bucky told him.

“I know.” His face scrunched again. Bucky guessed he was fighting back tears. “It’s just weird to know that I’m never going to be able to talk to her again. It feels like it was only five years ago we were fighting HYDRA together.”

Once again, Bucky was at a loss for words. He too had lost years through the continuous use of cryo, but it hadn’t been his choice. While he hated his past, he was grateful for the way it had brought him back to Steve. They’d saved each other.

The vibrating of Steve’s phone saved him from needing to answer. Steve glanced at the caller ID before answering.

“Hello?” he paused, eyebrows knitted as he listened. “No, it’s fine. I’m glad you called.”

Bucky watched Steve’s face go from confusion to shock to elation.

“Are you serious? I don’t understand, I figured we would be waiting another year at the least.”

Bucky frowned. If this was what he thought it was, he didn’t know if he was ready. He thought he’d have more time. He tried to catch Steve’s eye, but he was reaching for a sheet of paper. Bucky caught a glimpse of Peggy’s face as he pulled his sketchbook on his lap.

“Um, yes.” Steve turned and squinted at the calendar. “Tomorrow will work. Is there a time you would prefer?” He scratched something onto the pad. 

Bucky’s nightmares were starting to get worse again. It was something he’d expected after beginning to break the wall he’d so carefully constructed. He didn’t want to risk hurting his dog, but that would always be a fear. 

The bewildered excitement on Steve’s face was palpable. “Yeah, we can do that. Is there anything we need to bring, or will you supply everything?”

Alpine burrowed herself deeper into his sweatpants. She had already done so much for him. For a second, he let himself imagine having a dog who was actually trained to help him. Maybe it would be able to wake him up before his dreams got too bad. Against his better judgment, a thrill of excitement coursed through him. He’d defied everything he thought he could expect from himself. From the moment Steve suggested it, he never let himself truly believed it would happen. You didn’t give a dog to a monster. But that was the Soldier. That wasn’t him anymore.

Disbelief masked Steve’s face when he set down the phone a few minutes later. “We have dogs. We get to meet them tomorrow. We’ll train for a few weeks, and then they’re ours.”

Bucky took a deep breath. “I’m getting a dog.” It was real. He had a dog. Someone who knew almost solely of his past had deemed him safe enough to trust him with a dog.

“I told you, Buck,” Steve said, shifting so he was facing him. “You need to give yourself more credit on the progress you’ve made in these past few months.”

Bucky felt his cheeks begin to warm again. He bit his cheek, focusing on the Mystery Gang. Shaggy had just tripped into a cold shower. “I’m glad you’re in this process with me,” he finally managed to say. “I don’t think I’d be able to go through all of this alone.”

Steve squeezed his hand and settled back, resting his head against Bucky’s shoulder again. Bucky rested his head against Steve’s, fully able to concentrate on the movie playing. Yeah. This was all he needed.

***

The waiting room of Warrior K9 was warm and comfortable. Soft couches filled most of the space. A mixture of real and fake flowers covered the desk space and end tables. Upon first entering the space, it had immediately calmed Bucky. If he could take care of all his plants, he could take care of a dog. And he’d have help. He wouldn’t be alone this.

But the longer he sat, the more his stomach knotted. Despite coming to the conclusion that he was ready and excited, a small part of him still didn’t trust himself. His fingers drummed against his leg. Snide comments forced themselves into his brain. Steve hooked his ankle around Bucky’s. The contact brought him back into the present.

"You’re going to be fine, Buck. Everybody here has your back. Everybody here trusts you.”

Of course Steve knew exactly where his mind was taking him. He was fine. It was just the waiting that hurt him.

“Bucky, Steve?” Collette turned into the waiting room, a large smile on her face.

Steve immediately stood and held out his hand. “Colette, it’s so nice to finally meet you in person.”

“Likewise.”

Steve’s hand returned to his side and brushed against Bucky’s, who’d risen to stand beside him. He acknowledged Colette with a dip of his head and a strained smile.

“Are you ready?” she asked.

“Yes,” Bucky said. Steve hummed in agreement.

Colette lead the way across the lobby, opening a door that lead into a large, private room. Soft carpet covered the floor, along with a few bones and well-loved chew toys.

“Wait here for just a second,” she instructed, leaving through the door on the other side of the room.

Steve sat on the bench and Bucky sat on the floor in front of him, leaning against his legs. He drew his knees up to his chest, lacing the fingers of his left hand around his right wrist. They didn’t have to wait long before the door opened again and she returned with a man and a woman who lead two dogs. They both stood when Colette closed the door.

“This is Hayden White and Taylor Scott,” she said. “They’ll be working with you for the next couple of weeks.”

Steve extended his hand. “Steve Rogers.”

“It’s a pleasure,” Hayden said, shaking it.

Bucky could see him trying to contain his excitement and wondered if he’d known he’d be working with Captain America. The excitement died when Bucky extended his hand and introduced himself. Hayden’s eyes flickered quickly to Bucky’s left arm and to the dog at his side before he nearly imperceptibly shook his head and smiled at Bucky. There was still hesitancy in his eyes, but he appeared to be trying. Bucky tried to accept that.

“Lovely,” Colette said. “I’ll leave the four of you to get to know each other a bit more. We have the entire day, so take your time. If you have any questions or concerns, I’ll be my office. Feel free to find me at any point.”

Taylor and Hayden nodded, and Colette left the room.

Hayden cleared his throat and Bucky returned his attention to him. “Like Colette said, my name is Hayden White. I’ve worked as a trainer for Warrior K9 for the past ten years, and for the last eight months, I’ve had the absolute pleasure of working with this beauty.” He scratched her ears. “This beautiful girl is Aapeli. She’s yours, Bucky.”

His. He had a dog. Hayden walked her forward and Bucky knelt down, cautiously reaching out a hand. She sniffed it and her tail began to wag. Bucky scratched her behind the ears. A white splotch on her chest interrupted her otherwise deep red coat, but Bucky didn’t care. She was beautiful. She was his.

“While I don’t quite have as many years of experience with training as Hayden, I have worked with breeding for the past eight years,” Taylor informed Steve. “Little Eva and I have been buddies since she was born, and she’s probably one of the smartest dogs I’ve helped train.”

Steve smiled at the name and crouched down like Bucky had. “Hey, Eva,” he cooed as he stretched out his hand. After she sniffed it, he buried it in her thick coat. With a smirk, Bucky realized it was nearly the same color as Steve’s hair. “Who’s a pretty girl?”

With a glance toward each other, Taylor and Hayden unhooked the leads, letting Aapeli and Eva free. Content with the affection they were getting, they stayed where they were. Bucky shifted to sit cross-legged and Aapeli lay beside him. When she looked back at him, he wondered if she understood he was the person she’d trained for.

“Good girl,” he whispered. She began gnawing on a bone.

Steve stood, keeping a hand on Eva’s head, and continued asking questions. Hayden answered enthusiastically, returning a few of his own about what it was like being Captain America. Bucky was more than content to let him do all the talking. They’d worked out all their questions the night before to make sure they didn’t forget anything, so his questions were being answered.

Hayden’s gaze flickered over to him every so often. Bucky knew neither of them trusted him. Why should they? It had taken the entire waiting period for him to trust himself, and he still didn’t completely. He’d thrown a knife at Steve. What else would he do? What else _could_ he do? His hand slipped from Aapeli’s shoulder, his fingers wrapping around his wrist. Sounds muted.

He was foolish to think he was actually safe for her to be around. He’d told Steve that since he’d brought up the idea. Steve hadn’t believed him. He always believed the best of him. They’d always been able to see the best in each other. But this wasn’t a trivial thing. His fingers tightened. Alpine might have chosen him, but it wasn’t her job to be around him when he was at his worst. Aapeli would be. She couldn’t defend herself like Steve could.

A wet nose poked itself under his hand. Bucky blinked. Aapeli stared at him and whined quietly, licking his wrist. He tugged his sleeve over the bruises and scratched her ears. Steve was still talking. Despite the smile, Bucky could tell he wasn’t happy with all the questions Hayden was asking.

“What happens next?” Bucky asked, interrupting him mid-speech. He didn’t miss the thankful look Steve set towards him. “We’ve made the introductions, now what?”

“It’s up to you,” Taylor said. “This can be it for today, or we can move into some basic training, get you moving as a team.”

He looked to Steve. “Up to you.”

He gave Eva a fond look. “Let’s stay,” he said. 

It was dark when they finally exited the building, tired but exceptionally happy. He’d had a perspective shift again; a majority of the time, Bucky could believe this was for the best. He and Aapeli were a team. And he was healing. He had to remember that. Maybe now that he would have her, he could spend more days one-armed. There were days he woke up and just knew it would be easier if he didn’t have it on, but kept it because everything was so much easier with two hands. She could help him.

The ride home was quiet. Bucky leaned against the window, watching the moon. He knew it would be a quiet night at home. Steve had just begun to use the tablet Natasha had given him for his birthday and was knee-deep in a new project. Bucky had a pile of books he wanted to start on. Maybe they’d throw a movie on in the background.

“It’s funny,” Steve said quietly. “When we were tossing around names a while ago, Eva was the one I thought about saying but didn’t. I know she had her name before being chosen for me, but the meaning behind it,” he laughed quietly, shaking his head. “It’ll be a good reminder.”

Bucky looked at him. Patches of shadow lined his face. “What does it mean?”

They reached a stop sign and Steve returned his gaze. “Life.”

He continued driving, a guise of complex emotions masking his face. It was quiet until they pulled into their driveway. It still occasionally hit Bucky that the house was theirs. He never again had to question where he would sleep, if he would have a roof over his head. They had a safe place where he didn’t have to hide. All he had to face was himself, and he was. Every day, he remembered more. It wasn’t always easy, but he was working through it.

“Aapeli is my reminder to breathe,” Bucky told him.

Steve rested his head against the wheel for a moment before shifting as best as he could so he faced Bucky. The shadows on his face made him look years older. “We’re both fucked up, aren’t we?”

“I could’ve told you that before the war, pal.” A boy in love with his best friend who’d fought everything that so much looked at him. They’d certainly been an odd pair. Now at least they kind of matched.

“You’re telling me we didn’t have to face all that shit?” Mock outrage filled his voice. “If I’d known I’d end up in the same place regardless…”

“Well, I’d be slightly less fucked up,” Bucky amended. Without the war, all he would’ve needed to face was his feelings for Steve. It would’ve been a challenge in itself, but it wouldn’t have ended with blood on his hands. “But we could actually look our age.”

“Assuming I’d still be alive.”

“You would be. Your stubborn ass would have fought the grim reaper until he grew tired of trying and you’d be invincible. Maybe you’d still be scrawny as shit, but you wouldn’t be able to die.”

Steve just smiled the crooked smile that Bucky loved. He was glad for the shadows to hide the heat in his cheeks. Sooner or later he was going to have to tell him how he felt. And if he remembered correctly, Steve had kissed him back. That had to mean something.

The next two weeks of training passed both too quickly and excruciatingly slow. Each day of training was chock full. They repeated different commands until even with his memory, Bucky wouldn’t be able to forget them. They learned rules they had to follow, behaviors they should reward or correct. Aapeli and Eva never faltered.

When they went on outings, Bucky left his arm behind. It was amusing how many looks of condolences he received. But better sympathy than fear. It was the arm everyone recognized, not his face. Without it, he was just another soldier returning from war.

He hadn’t realized how difficult it had been for him to navigate his life until he had Aapeli to help him. With her beside him, people didn’t press up against him on the sidewalk. He was given pace in the aisles at the grocery store. She could alert him before a panic attack or dissociation; the bruises on his wrist had begun to fade. She knew how to find Steve in case anything happened.

It was surreal when they passed the field tests and they were certified as a working team. He’d never thought he’d get here, not really. He’d wanted to, but he hadn’t been able to fully believe it. But staring at the certification, the blue vest that indicated her as a service animal, it fully sank in. This wasn’t about what he’d done in his past. This was about his future. This was about how he moved forward. He needed help and that was okay.

“Is this anything like you’d pictured your life would be?” Bucky asked on the drive home. Late afternoon sunlight warmed the car. Aapeli and Eva lay in the backseat.

“What, you think I dreamed I’d be injected with a bunch of super steroids, become a super hero and be frozen for sixty plus years?” There was a trace of a smile on Steve’s lips.

“I meant normal. A house in the suburbs, dogs. Stability.”

Steve was quiet. Bucky could see he was working through the question.

“I didn’t even know if I’d live to see the next day,” he finally answered. “This is more than anything I’d ever hoped for. I may have gone through hell and back to get here, but I made it.”

Bucky looked out the window, watching the houses pass by on their street. “I always wanted this," he said. "In the early days of the war, before HYDRA, I imagined coming home and settling down. Building a life, a future. After everything, I never thought I’d be given the chance.”

Steve pulled into the driveway. “Who’d have thought those two good for nothing rascals would find their slice of the American dream?”

“Pretty sure you were the only rascal,” Bucky said, getting out of the car. “I wasn’t the one getting into fights every other day.”

Steve grinned. “It all seemed to work out in the end.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and opened back the door to let Aapeli out. “Welcome home, pretty girl.” She’d been in their house a couple of times to acquaint her with the layout, but now it was truly hers.

She looked up at him and he scratched her head. Steve let Eva out and started walking towards the front door before stopping and grabbing a stick. He tossed it and Eva tore across the yard to retrieve it. She dropped it at his feet and Steve threw it again. Aapeli leaned against his leg. Steve caught Bucky’s eye and another goofy grin crossed his face. Eva trotted back to him and he ruffled her ears.

Bucky had just sat down on the couch, Aapeli settling herself at his feet, when Steve poked him with his foot. He sat on the other side of the couch. A pouty frown turned down his lips.

“I’m hungry. I would make myself dinner, but I’m not allowed to cook.”

“Then maybe it’s time I taught you.”

Steve looked taken aback. “Wait, are you serious?”

Bucky nodded. “Might as well teach you so you don’t set the house on fire when you eventually have to make something yourself.”

Steve shook his head. “That was one time,” he muttered.

“Still doesn’t change the fact that you set things on fire.” Bucky stood, told Aapeli to stay, and walked to the kitchen. “You comin’, Stevie?”

Grumbling to himself about verbal abuse, Steve picked himself off the couch and followed.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "If you want to be mature, stop doing dumb shit.”

“Are you going to introduce me to this pretty girl?” Dr. Scheinbaum crouched in front of Aapeli, scratching her behind the ears. She wagged her tail, her tongue lolling.

Bucky smiled softly at her. He’d only had her a week, but he already couldn’t imagine a life without her. “This is Aapeli. She’s my daily reminder to stop and breathe every once and a while.”

"Has it been working?”

“For the most part.” He sat on the couch and Aapeli sat at his feet, providing the pressure he needed to stay present.

"What’s the catch?”

“It’s not that part that’s hard,” Bucky said. “Not usually, at least.” He paused, biting his lip, trying to figure out how to best phrase what he wanted to say. “It’s the understanding that I deserve the break that I’ve been struggling with. I’ve started feeling guilty about my decision to heal, of taking the mantle of victim rather than villain and letting go of my guilt.”

He stared down at Aapeli. She rested her chin on his leg. “They started off as small moments that were easy to push aside. I could reassure myself that it was okay, that I was in the clear because I had no choice in the matter. But the colder it’s gotten, the more I’ve been remembering the worst things I’ve done.” He looked up to meet her steady gaze. “I’ve done despicable things, and when I think about them, I can’t understand why I deserve to be happy.”

“I thought you moved past referring to yourself as the Soldier,” she said. “You didn’t do those things, Bucky.”

Bucky shrugged, shaking his head half-heartedly. “The Soldier might be a different person, but he’s a part of me. I have to stop running from that. I have to stop expecting myself to be the same person that fell from the train because I’m not. I can’t forgive the things the Soldier has done simply because I didn’t have a choice. In a way, it was still me who tortured and killed. They just drew out a part of myself I hadn’t acknowledged before.”

She nodded. “Okay, so let’s talk about the Soldier.”

His fingers closed around his wrist. Aapeli nosed his hand until it was on top of her head and whined softly. He scratched her ears. “I don’t know how,” he said.

There was so much he never wanted to admit to. He’d done so much he was ashamed of. There was so much that wasn’t in his records. Better to leave things to speculation than let the world actually know the truth. If they knew, there would be no kindness; they wouldn’t understand he hadn’t had a choice.

“That’s not true,” he amended after a period of silence. “I just don’t want to talk about it. I can’t make amends for the things I’ve done, and no matter how hard I try, I’m never going to be free of this guilt, so what’s the point?”

“The point is that it’s preventing you from being happy,” Dr. Scheinbaum said. “Yes, the Soldier has done terrible things, but that was the past. You’re no longer that person. Last week, you made the decision to step away from the title of Winter Soldier. He dictated your past, why does he get to dictate your future?”

Bucky sighed, biting into his lip. “Anybody that knows my past will never let me forget it. If they see that I’m happy, they’ll think I don’t care about what I’ve done. They’ll think even worse of me. At least if I show my guilt, they’ll know. They won’t care, but they’ll know I’m suffering for it.”

“That’s not true, Bucky, and you know that. You have a host of people in your corner that will fight for you.”

“I don’t want them to fight for me! Steve did, and look where that landed him. His entire relationship with Tony is shattered, he’s on the run from the government.” He rubbed his hands over his face. “The fact that he’s afraid of falling asleep is my fault.”

“Steve’s sleep troubles aren’t your fault, Bucky.”

“Feels a hell of a lot like they are.” Since he’d thrown the knife, he’d found him on the couch more often than not. There were some nights when he couldn’t convince him to come to bed.

“How much do you talk about this at home?” she asked.

“Every once in a while. Steve likes to pretend that he’s fine; he’s always done that.”

“Has he ever once blamed you?”

“Even if he thought it was my fault, he wouldn’t say anything.”

“How often has Steve lied to you, even just by omission?”

“It was different when he was small,” Bucky said. “He didn’t want me to know about all his fights. Though how he thought he’d hide them from me when he came home bruised every other day is still a mystery.”

“So you’d say you can see through his lies?”

Bucky nodded. The punk had a terrible poker face. It had gotten better since the serum, but Bucky knew his ticks. 

“So, if he hasn’t blamed you, why do you blame yourself?”

Bucky’s fingers drummed against his legs. Aapeli licked his hand. “I’ve been blamed for most of the political trauma this country has faced since the 60s; assassination, destabilization, leaked information. It’s become my truth regardless of whether I had a hand in it or not. People are blaming me anyway, so I might as well shoulder the guilt. It’s easier that way.”

“I said this before, but I’m going to say it again," Dr.Schienbaum said. "The Soldier is your past, not your future. Why are you letting him influence who you want to become?”

“Because I don’t know who I am without the Soldier.” The words came out louder and angrier than he expected. His fingers curled back around his wrist and he took a deep breath. Aapeli whined softly. “I don’t remember what it’s like to feel happy without guilt. I don’t remember what it’s like to feel like I deserve anything good. I still don’t always believe I deserve Aapeli because again, if people recognize me with her, they won’t understand. I’m a villain in so many stories. Villains aren’t allowed a happy ending.”

“You’re not a villain, Bucky. Just a man who’s had an unfortunately tragic past.”

Bucky didn’t say anything. The bruises on his wrist throbbed. Aapeli nosed his hand. He loosened his grip but didn’t let go. He wanted to believe that. The snide voice in his brain didn’t. 

“Do you want to be happy?” she asked.

_Why should you?_ “I don’t think I deserve to.”

“That’s not what I asked,” Dr. Scheinbaum said. “Do you want to be happy?”

He bit his lip again. He didn’t need to be ashamed. “I do.” It was when he was happy that he could picture a future when maybe everything would be okay. The voice in his brain sneered at the thought. He did his best to block it out, his knee jiggling. He forced himself to keep talking, trying to ignore the buzzing in his ears.

“I guess it’s like this. I’m happy, and for that little bit of time, my past means nothing. I can forget, for just a little while, the atrocities to my name. And then I remember, and I feel the guilt of forgetting all those people; guilt that I allowed myself to forget.” 

“Do you really believe you’ll ever be able to forget what you’ve been forced to do?”

Everything came into sharp focus. “I can’t.” It was the worst part of his memory. It was the only thing he knew he would remember.

“So why do you punish yourself for the few moments of reprieve you have? You’ve said it yourself: you’re going to live with this your entire life, but it doesn’t need to be your full life. Acknowledge the memories and let them go. You can’t heal wounds when you’re wearing fighting gloves. Take the fighting gloves off.”

“I don’t know how.”

“You be kind to yourself. Start by recognizing the moments you’re happy and try to just let yourself be.”

It sounded so simple. He could do simple. His fingers unclasped from his wrist. Aapeli licked his hand.

“We’re celebrating Thanksgiving in a few days,” he told her quietly. “Sam and Natasha are coming over, and we always have a good time. It’s easier to stay in the moment when everyone is around.”

“So you’ll have a good space to focus on the little moments.”

“I hope so.” There was bound to be something that had them cackling. Most likely at Sam’s expense; he just made it so easy.

Dr. Scheinbaum tapped her fingers against her portfolio before standing up and walking to her desk. After rummaging around in her drawers, she returned to her chair.

“When you recognize that you’re happy, I want you to use this.” She handed him a counter clicker. He rolled it between his fingers, allowing Aapeli to sniff it. “At the end of each night, I want you to write down the number of times you clicked it and a brief description of the moments you remember. Don’t try to rationalize them, just let them be.”

“So we’ll be testing the old memory,” he said. He cracked a smile.

“I suppose we are,” she agreed. “But we’re making it a positive space rather than one of misfortune. Just think of it as growing flowers in a damaged field; it’s not impossible, it just takes love and patience.”

He liked that image. “I’ll do my best.”

“And that’s all we ever ask for here.”

-

40s jazz filled the living room when Bucky got home. Steve poked his head over the couch and grinned when he saw him. Bucky clicked the counter twice. It was impossible not to get a rush of happiness when he smiled like that: small and crooked and just for him. With the music in the background, he was reminded of the countless times he’d returned to their old apartment to the same setup. Of course, this time, Steve wasn’t covered in bruises.

“I decided it was a crime that we didn’t have a record player anywhere in this house, so I decided to change that,” Steve told him. “I missed how much better everything sounds played like this.”

Alpine jumped onto Bucky’s shoulder, and he scratched her head. She rubbed against his cheek, purring. “I could’ve told you that earlier, but better late than never, I guess.”

“How was it today?” Steve asked in the lull between songs. 

“You know.” He shrugged. He wasn’t sure how he felt.

Steve gave a humorless smile in response. Bucky sat on the other side of the couch, legs curling under him. Eva took up the middle cushion, her paws twitching in sleep. When he saw the tight athletic gear, he frowned.

“Haven’t seen that in a while. Where’s the sweater?”

Steve looked down. “I’ve been telling myself for a better part of the past hour that I’m going to get out for a run. With everything going on in the last few weeks, I haven’t been able to. I meant to go before you got home, but each song that comes on it just too good to leave. Feels like I’ve been reliving the good parts of our childhood.”

He paused, cocking his head to listen. _Out of Nowhere, _Bing Crosby. Bucky was surprised that he remembered it.

“Like with this one, it was the night before my 13th birthday, and you trying to teach me how to dance. Course it didn’t work because I had no sense of rhythm, but we still had fun.”

“I lifted you on top of my shoes at the end,” Bucky said, the memory resurfacing. It was blurry, but it was there. He hadn’t been teaching him anything in particular. Really, it had been an excuse to be close to him.

“You’d still probably have to,” Steve told him, chuckling. “I may be agile now, but I still have no sense of musicality.” 

"It’d be easy to test. Could actually teach you some real steps this time.” His heart rate increased at the thought of dancing with Steve again.

“Maybe later," Steve said. "I really need to get out of the house.”

“You taking Eva?” Bucky looked at her. She was still dreaming.

Steve smiled at her. Bucky clicked. “Eventually I’d like to, but not today.”

“How far are you going?”

“I’m not sure. However far I need to in order to clear my head.”

“I’m expecting you home for dinner,” Bucky said. “I’m testing out a new stuffing recipe before Thanksgiving. I need your opinion.”

“I can assure you I’m not going to be gone for four hours,” Steve promised. He stood, kissed Eva’s forehead, and walked to the front door to slip on his shoes. “If I am, something happened to me. I expect you to mourn appropriately.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. Steve was still a little shit. Bucky wouldn’t have it any other way.

-

He was reading when Steve returned. Sweat plastered his hair to the side of his head. Eva picked up her head, hopped off the couch and went to greet him. Aapeli stayed on Bucky’s lap. Steve came and sat down, taking off his socks and resting them on his knee. Bucky looked up.

“You’re disgusting, go take a shower.”

Steve looked over to him. “I can’t rest after running fifteen miles?”

“You stink,” he repeated.

Steve looked at the book in his hand. “Are you reading _Twilight?_”

“Don’t try to change the subject. Go shower.” 

Muttering to himself, Steve stood and walked down the hallway. Bucky picked the book back up and continued reading. He was, in fact, reading _Twilight_. Sam had made the unfortunate mistake of daring him, saying that he and Nat would recreate the iconic scenes from the movies should he manage to finish all of them. Of course, he’d promptly purchased all four of them. It might take him a while to read them all, but he would. There wasn’t a lot he wouldn’t do to mess with Sam.

***

Steve left Bucky on the couch with his questionable taste in literature. He wasn’t going to tell him what he could and couldn’t read, not when he himself hadn’t read in over a month. He’d never really been the reading type; was never really good at sitting still—he much preferred having his hands busy.

Stripping off his sweaty clothes, he stepped under the shower. Freezing water immediately assaulted him. His breath seized. Metal creaked. He couldn’t move. The water didn’t warm. He somehow managed to stumble into his room. If he turned the shower off, he didn’t remember doing it. Vision black at the edges, he curled into himself, pulling blanket after blanket over him.

A sob escaped him. He shoved his fist into his mouth to choke them back. He didn’t need Bucky seeing this. The blankets wrapped tighter around him. _You’re fine, you’re fine, you’re fine, you’re fine._ He shivered violently. _This is your fault, all your fault, all your fault. You didn’t need to crash_.

All he saw was the expanse of ice. He’d begun shivering long before he crashed. When the water had finally covered him, he’d been warm. It had been one of the first times he’d been a comfortable temperature; he was always too cold. That was when he fully knew he was going to die. And he’d closed his eyes. He’d given up. At that point, everyone he’d ever fought had been right about him. He wasn’t worth anything.

He tasted blood. Tears burned his throat. He fought for breath. Most of all, he shivered.

Something jumped on his bed and nudged him. He reached out blindly, tangling his fingers into Eva’s coat. She whined softly and licked his face. It just made him shake harder. The blankets fell from his shoulder. Soft fingers brushed his skin to return them before moving up to his rub his neck.

"Where are you, Stevie?” Bucky’s voice came from far away.

"Cold,” he whispered. “It’s so cold.”

He felt Bucky slide under the blankets and wrap his arms around him. Eva pressed closer to him, still licking his face.

“You’re always cold, Punk. What’s different this time?”

“I just gave up.” He’d been so tired of fighting.

“You just ran fifteen miles, Stevie, if that’s giving up, none of us have a chance at anything.”

He wasn’t able to reply. Bucky kept talking. Steve didn’t hear him, not really. Eva pressed against him, occasionally licking his face and nosing him. Bucky continued rubbing his neck. Eventually, his breathing slowed. He slowly stopped shivering. 

“There you are,” Bucky said softly. “You’re safe at home, not in the arctic.”

“I didn’t want you to see that,” Steve croaked. “I thought I could be okay. Thought I could stop it before-before…” His breathing seized again. His throat burned. 

“Neither of us are okay, Steve. But we’re working on that.” 

“The water was so cold.” He shivered at the memory of it.

“Probably a pipe problem. I’ll find a way to fix it.”

“A pipe?”

“Just a pipe, Stevie. Easy fix.”

A pipe. Not the plane. He slowly uncurled himself. Eva licked his face and nosed his hands. “Good girl,” he whispered. She wagged her tail.

“That’s it, Stevie. You’re okay,” Bucky said, still rubbing his neck.

"I’m okay,” he repeated.

“That’s right. And you know what you’re going to do now?” Bucky asked.

“Hmm?”

“You’re going to put on some clothes, bundle up real warm, then we’re going to take out Eva and Aapeli for a nice walk. We’ll bring some cocoa, and you’re going to point out every little thing you want to draw. And then when we get home, and we’ll put on your favorite music, the kind that makes me roll my eyes sometimes because it’s so sappy, and you’re going to help me make dinner. We’ll make something easy. And then we’ll watch one of those movies you keep telling me we gotta watch. How does that sound?”

“Good.”

“And then tomorrow I’ll fix that pipe so we can have hot water. That sound good?”

“Yeah.” He could do that. He could layer on sweaters and drink hot cocoa and acknowledge the pretty things that deserved to be drawn. It wasn’t something he’d been able to do before.

His hand left Steve’s neck and the warm pressure behind him receded. There was a ruffle of his hair, the door opened and closed, and Steve was alone again.

Deep shame boiled in his stomach. He really hadn’t wanted Bucky to see that. It seemed like every other week, something happened in which Bucky needed to comfort him. He just wanted to be okay. He wanted to be strong. So he would pull himself out of bed and put on a brave face. He would bundle up and pretend like nothing had happened. And maybe, just maybe he would be okay.

***

Bucky waited in front of the stove, idly stirring the hot chocolate. He hated seeing Steve like that. Since childhood, Steve had been a fighter. No matter what happened, he’d been victorious because he’d believed he’d been. He’d done what he’d wanted despite what other people said. Whatever had happened to him after Bucky had fallen had served to break him, and he hated that. Steve had always been his courage. He hated that Steve couldn't see that. 

He poured the hot chocolate into thermos’ and set them on the counter at the same time Steve exited his room, Eva at his side. The fingers of his left hand brushed her head. The fingers of his right drummed against his thigh.

"You ready?” Bucky asked. Steve nodded, his face tight.

Without saying anything else, they slipped on their shoes, hooked leashes onto Eva and Aapeli, grabbed the thermos’ and left the house.

The sky was spattered with dark grey clouds. A light breeze ruffled the branches of the trees. Leaves drifted to the frostbitten ground. One landed on Steve’s head. Bucky watched as he slowly lifted a hand and pulled it off, studying it closely.

“I could draw this,” he said. He looked up, turning to take in the rest of the park. When he completed the circle, there was the beginning of a smile on his lips. Bucky put his hand in his pocket and clicked. Steve looked at the leaf again.

“I could use this as the outline and recreate the park inside, work on my shading.” He looked at the park again, his eyebrows knitting together as he thought. “Or maybe use one color to accentuate a few details. Or I could try my hand at stippling. That might be fun.”

“Or,” Bucky said, proud of the idea he’d just thought of, “you could do a series and use all of your aforementioned ideas.”

The smile on Steve’s face grew. Bucky clicked. He looked at the leaf again. “I could use colors to illustrate the changing of seasons.”

“Sounds smart to me.”

They continued walking. At one point, they unclipped the leashes, allowing Aapeli and Eva to run around. They wrestled until Bucky picked up a stick and threw it. Steve sipped at his hot chocolate, occasionally lifting the leaf and spinning it between his fingers Every once in a while, Bucky caught him looking at him. He looked away quickly each time, busying himself in pointed out something else.

"The sky is really pretty,” Steve said quietly after they started walking again. They’d been quiet for a while. The clouds had mostly disappeared, leaving nothing to hide the brilliant sunset. “I could use the pastels Sam got me for my birthday. I haven’t had a good reason to use them yet.”

Bucky frowned. “Do you ever need a good reason to experiment?”

Steve shrugged, looking down. “Sometimes feels like I do. Feels like if I create anything bad, everything everyone has ever said to me about being an artist is right.”

“Is that why you never let me see what you’re working on?” Bucky asked. Steve didn’t answer. Bucky bumped his shoulder with his. “Come on, Stevie. You got into NYU.”

There was a small smile. “I did.”

"And besides, you know you’re better than Sam. He wouldn’t be able to draw a bird even if he had a stencil.”

Steve laughed. Bucky clicked, bumping his shoulder again. “There it is.”

"He’s terrible!”

“Can’t even read his handwriting.”

-

It was as if a weight had been lifted from Steve’s shoulders by the time they got home. The tightness in his face had faded into an easy smile that grew each time Bucky caught his eye. After settling back in and putting on Steve’s favorite jazz, Bucky quickly put him to work slicing peppers and onions. Bucky put rice on the stove, took the chicken breast out of the fridge, and grabbed a plastic cutting board, humming along to Frank Sinatra’s _I’ve Got a Crush on You._

When he turned to check on Steve, he sighed. “If you hold the knife like that,you’re going to cut off your fingers.” Walking to stand beside him, he corrected his grip. Steve cut a few more slices of pepper and Bucky shook his head. “You’re putting in too much effort. Here.” Bucky moved so he was standing behind him and put his hands over Steve’s, guiding the knife. Steve stiffened. “Relax, Stevie. Let the blade do all the work.”

After a few guiding cuts, he removed his hands, but stayed behind him. His breath tickled Steve’s ear. It would be so easy to kiss him right now. But no matter how much he wanted to, he wasn’t going to. He’d just gotten Steve’s smile back, and for now, that was enough.

When he was satisfied with Steve’s technique, he stepped back and started prepping the chicken. A sprinkle of salt and pepper, fajita seasoning and a dash of garlic powder. After cutting it into strips, he put it in the skillet and savored the sound of sizzling.

“What do I do now?” Bucky turned to find Steve looking at him. The knife was on the counter beside the pile of peppers and onion.

“Now,” Bucky said, “we wait for the chicken to cook, take it out to rest, and cook the vegetables. While that’s happening, we’ll take some water, mix in our seasoning and some cornstarch, put it in with the veggies and let that simmer. It’ll thicken up real nice and coat everything. When we’re satisfied, we’ll toss in the chicken, let everything marinate for a few minutes, and you got yourself some fajitas. Easy peasy.”

“If you say so,” Steve said. But there was a smile. So Bucky smiled.

-

Ten minutes later, they were at the table. Bucky spooned rice into his tortilla before topping it with the fajita mixture. “How’s it feel to have made your first proper dinner?”

Steve swallowed his bite. “All I did was cut some peppers. You did all the real stuff.”

"Cutting the peppers is an important step, Steve,” Bucky assured. “Can’t have fajitas without them.”

"Whatever you say, Buck.” He looked down, fluffing his rice with his fork. Again, there was a smile. Small and crooked.

-

Hands deep in soapy water, Steve turned to look at him. His expression was unreadable. “Why’d you choose me?” he asked. “All those years ago, you could’ve picked any friend you wanted. Why choose me, the scrawny, sickly kid no one wanted anything to do with?”

Bucky looked at him for a minute, trying to compose his answer. The truth was that he’d found him beautiful even then, that scrawny little kid with bruises everywhere and a mouth that would appall the devil himself. At first, he’d gone over to see if he’d needed help. Steve had been fighting, of course. The two guys had been bigger than Bucky, but that hadn’t mattered to Steve. There had been a little girl behind him, fright apparent on her face.

“You could have easily stood aside to protect yourself, but you didn’t. You looked out for the little guy when everyone else turned a blind eye.”

"You didn’t.”

"And look where that got me,” Bucky joked. “Armless and traumatized.”

Steve splashed him. “I’m serious, Buck. Why me?”

_You really can’t see how amazing you are, can you, Stevie. _That’s what he wanted to say. Instead he said, “Because I thought I might be able to keep you out of trouble. Didn’t take long to realize how wrong I was.”

Steve breathed a laugh. “I was a handful, wasn’t I?”

"Was?”

Steve looked up, eyebrow quirked. “I’m nowhere as bad as I was back then.”

Bucky barked a laugh. “Shall I list the number of stupid things you’ve done since we’ve moved in?”

Steve took his hand out of the water to hold up a finger, splashing Bucky again. “Stupid, yes. Reckless, no. I’ve moved on from that.”

Bucky raised his hands. “Praise the good Lord, there’s been a miracle.”

"Shut up.” There was a smile. Bucky smirked.

“Can you imagine if you were as dumb in this age as you were in 1934? Fights every other day. You’d-”

He was silenced by water hitting his face. Steve had the kitchen sprayer in his hand. His eyes were wide and he was clearly trying to stifle a laugh. Bucky ran a hand down his face. He blinked, slowly.

“You sure you wanted to do that, Stevie?” he asked as calmly as he could.

Steve replied by spraying him again. Hair dripping, Bucky grabbed the large measuring cup he’d just dried, dunked it in the soapy water and dumped it on Steve’s head before he had time to move. In response, Steve picked up a pile of bubbles that had survived and palmed Bucky’s head. Bucky slipped his hand under Steve’s arm and grabbed the sprayer, blasting Steve’s face. Dripping wet, Steve turned off the faucet.

“Yet everyone thinks you’re the mature one in this relationship,” Steve muttered, shaking his hands and scattering droplets.

“Steve,” Bucky said, drying his face, “I hate to break this to you, but I went to science conventions for fun. You broke the law. I don’t know how you think you’re going to win this one.”

Steve turned on the faucet and sprayed him again.

"You’re just strengthening the case against you, Steve,” Bucky told him, wiping his face again. “You want to be mature, stop doing dumb shit.”

-

Kitchen mopped up and changed into dry clothes, they sat on the couch, bowl of popcorn between them. Aapeli and Eva lay at their feet. The opening credits of _Wall-E_ were just gracing the screen, bringing with it shots of spinning galaxies and sprawling stars. When the dust faded to show the towering buildings, Bucky sucked in a breath. At the introduction of the small robot that created them from trash, Bucky was sold. Put aside his love for R2D2.

"The art in this is one of my favorite things,” Steve started to say.

Still staring at the screen, Bucky maneuvered his arm until his hand covered Steve’s mouth. “Shut up, I’m in love.”

He flickered his gaze to Steve momentarily to see the smug smile; he’d been trying to get Bucky to watch the movie with him for the past month. Not really knowing why, Bucky had put it off. There had been other things to do, books to read, pastries to bake. He’d come to resist it. Steve would never let him live it down.

At one point in the middle, Steve shifted so his head was against Bucky’s chest. Bucky’s heart jumped; he forced himself to take deep breaths and draped his arm over his shoulder. They’d laid like this all the time as kids. There was no reason to think anything of it. After losing each other, sometimes it was nice just to reassure their hearts were still beating.

When Auto started taking control of the ship, Bucky had to force himself to stay on the couch. He was fine. He was safe. No one controlled him anymore. Aapeli leaned her head against the couch and stared at him. With his free hand, he scratched her ears. Alpine moved from the top of the couch to his shoulder. He breathed.

His throat burned when Auto broke the panel, effectively sending Wall-E to his death. All he’d wanted was to do what was right. Just because he hadn’t complied with the order didn’t make him useless. A tear slipped down his cheek and he wiped it away before Steve noticed. He’d gotten out. He wasn’t a mindless machine anymore. He was himself.

Bucky found himself holding his breath the entire time Eve was fixing Wall-E. He couldn’t be gone. It was a kid’s movie. When Wall-E raised his head, Bucky sighed in relief, but it was short-lived. His throat began to burn again, and this time, he couldn’t hide the tears that came with Wall-E’s loss of memory. It was just like after they’d wiped him.

“Buck, are you okay?” Steve’s hand cupped his cheek, wiping away the tears that stained them.

“They broke him, and when they fixed him, he forgot who he was.”

Steve’s expression broke. Eve put her fingers through Wall-E’s.

“Was that what it was like?” he asked. “Seeing me as the Soldier with no recollection of who you were?”

Steve nodded. “It was like I was given my world back, but it was behind glass. All I could do was witness it from afar. You were there, but it wasn’t you.” He glanced towards the tv. “But then, you did remember. And you came back.”

He nodded towards the screen and Bucky looked back. Wall-E’s fingers closed around Eve’s. He said her name. A wave of pure relief coursed through Bucky and he let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding.

He laughed softly to himself and wiped away his fresh tears. “Look at me, crying over a robot.”

Steve turned off the tv and turned to fully face him, legs crossed under him. “I’ve cried over a brick before, so you’re not alone.”

“A brick?”

Steve shrugged. “I wasn’t having the best day, and there was a brick in a wall that was just a slightly different shape than all the others, and I just broke.”

“Glad to know I haven’t reached that stage.”

Steve shrugged again. “Sometimes crying is all you can do. No need to be ashamed of it.”

He’d never been told that before. It had always been something to be ashamed of. “I’m glad he was alright in the end.” 

There was the small smile again. "It’s a happy ending.”

They’d locked eyes again. Bucky’s heart pounded. Steve’s thumb brushed over Bucky’s cheek.

"Eyelash,” he explained quietly. His hand stayed on his cheek. “Bucky, I-” his eyes flickered to Bucky’s lips before meeting his again. His head moved closer. 

"Yeah?” It was barely more than a breath. All he needed to do was close the gap. It would be easy. Neither of them moved. 

“Never mind.” His hand dropped and he moved back. “I’m gonna head to bed. Thank you for this afternoon.”

Bucky nodded. Steve stood and walked to his room, Eva trailing behind him. When his door shut behind him, Bucky groaned and fell back, palms over his eyes. Steve was going to be the death of him. One of these days, he was just going to kiss him. Consequences be damned. Maybe they'd panic, but at least he'd be in his right mind and they would know. With a deep sigh, he stood, turned off the lights, and followed Steve to bed.

_Steve sat across from him, head thrown back in laughter. “He really said that?” _

_"The bird did in fact say that,” Bucky said, enjoying the smile that had expanded on Steve’s face. “Pretty sure he believes it too.” _

_Steve shook his head. “Jesus. I know he’s smart, but sometimes he can just be really thick.” _

_The previous night, they’d decided they were going out for brunch. The weather was nice enough that they were able to sit outside. B_ _ucky lifted his glass from the table and sipped his lemonade. Ice tumbled forward and hit his teeth. Steve took another bite of his french toast, washing it down with a sip of coffee. _

_Steve chuckled, shaking his head again. When he looked up, he caught Bucky’s eye and smiled. Bucky ducked his head to hide the flush in his cheeks. He still didn’t understand how he’d gotten to be so lucky as to be loved by the man across from him._

_“I was thinking we could…” _

_Steve never finished the sentence. He blinked, leaning forward slightly. Surprise lit his eyes. Bucky turned. His stomach clenched. Steve stood, making his way through the maze of tables. Bucky could only sit, frozen, as he put his hand on the man’s shoulder. He turned and Bucky watched Steve embrace him. His past-self laughed, hands on Steve’s shoulders. He wouldn’t have seen Steve big before; he'd left for the war far before that had happened. Steve kissed his cheek. Before he could fully pull away, his past-self put his hand on the back of Steve’s head and pulled him in for a kiss. Steve kissed him back. _

_Hand in hand, they walked back to the table. Bucky found himself on the other side of the fence, watching as his past-self took the spot he’d just occupied. He took a sip of lemonade. This was him before the war. Confident. Handsome. There were no nightmares to keep him awake at night. Of course Steve would prefer him. He wasn’t a monster. _

_He tried to speak, but found himself muzzled. A thick collar sat heavily around his neck. His suit trapped him. The heavy metal of his arm bit into his shoulder. He tried to move forward, but an unseen hand jerked a chain, causing him to fall to his knees. Steve looked at him and a wave of disgust crossed his face. His past-self put his hand over Steve’s. _

_“Of course I prefer him,” Steve said in response to Bucky’s unvoiced question. “Why would anyone want you? You’re broken. Weak. Pathetic. Why love you when I can love him?” _

He woke to Aapeli nosing him and licking his face. Her forelegs were pressed against his chest. Bucky scratched her ears, fighting back shuddering breaths. His nails curled into his palm. He wasn’t going to cry out. He didn’t need Steve to see him like this. It was the worst of his dreams. Even memories were better. While terrible, at least he knew the chair and the blood were part of his past. He didn't want to know if Steve would rather have him before all the damage. Even if he lied, Bucky would know. It was easier to keep it to himself. 

Not wanting to return to his dreams, Bucky threw back the covers and walked to the living room, Aapeli padding after him. It was a rare occasion that it was empty. Pulling the afghan over him, he settled on the couch and started to read. The cloud of the dream still covered him, but at least with this, he could think of Sam being cast as Edward Cullen. It didn’t make everything better, but it was certainly something to look forward to.

***

Bucky was in the kitchen when Steve walked into the living room. He wore an apron over his t-shirt. A pile of potatoes was on the counter beside him.

"What time are they coming over?” he asked. It would be their first Thanksgiving away from the full team. Although he was getting used to the distance, it still felt strange on holidays. 

Bucky didn’t look up from his cutting board. “No idea. Nat never gave me a solid answer. Figured I would just get everything prepped and start cooking around ten.”

Made sense to him. “Need any help?”

“I might ask you to chop a few things later, but right now you can start cleaning. The living room is a mess.”

Steve looked at the pile of toys scattered across the floor. Blankets were haphazardly thrown on the couch. The deck of cards was still out from last night. It had been an epic game of Egyptian Rat Slap. Bucky had taken off his left arm to avoid causing serious injury. Steve still didn’t understand how he’d managed to drop his cards and slap the pile faster than he could. All he could say was it was a good thing they didn’t share walls with neighbors.

Picking up the scattered cards, he placed them back in their box. He had half a mind to orchestrate a game later today. As long as they played on the floor, there wouldn’t be a way to break anything. It would certainly be a raucous game. He would love to see Sam’s face if Bucky beat him one handed.

Eva lay on half of one of the blankets. Steve pulled it out from under her as gently as possible. After folding it and draping it over the back of the couch, he sat on the ground beside her, pressing his face into her fur. He still couldn’t believe that they’d gotten them as fast as they had. Colette had explained that it really was the fundraising aspect that generally made the process take so long. As Steve had copious amounts of money laying around, paying had been the least of their problems. 

She breathed out heavily and stretched, settling deeper on the couch. Steve kissed her head, ruffled her ears, and stood up to continue cleaning. He still wasn’t sure where they’d gotten half of the toys that littered their floor, but threw them in the converted toy basket nonetheless.

An hour and a half later, the turkey was in the oven and Sam and Natasha sat on the floor. Steve sat on the couch, Eva’s head in his lap. She blinked lazily up at him. Bucky perched on the back of the couch, Aapeli curled on the recliner that was perfectly positioned in the sun. The National Dog Show was on the tv. The Golden Retriever ran through her paces. Steve knew he was biased, but Eva was much prettier. 

“You’ve become quite the animal farm,” Natasha commented, dragging the long feather toy for Alpine. She ignored it, electing to pounce on Sam instead. Bucky chuckled quietly behind him. 

“Yeah, well, we needed to balance it out with all the plants,” Steve replied, earning a smack from Bucky. He smirked up at him in response.

“Can you please control your cat?” Sam asked as Alpine pounced on him for the fifth time.

Bucky leaned forward slightly, lips pursed. “She’s a cat. You’re a bird. What do you expect?”

“Are you ever nice?”

“To you?” Bucky asked, examining his nails. “Probably not.”

“Being an ass is a talent of his,” Steve added. “He’s come to perfect it in his older years. Retirement’s really done a number on him.” Metal connected with the back of his head again. He turned and stuck his tongue out at him. Bucky just rolled his eyes.

“What are you, twelve?” Natasha asked.

“At one point in my life, yes, I was.” Steve was way too proud of the reactions that followed. Natasha nodded slowly, rubbing her temple. Bucky sighed deeply.

Sam dropped his face into his hands. “This is the guy I willingly followed into battle.”

"Stupidity is a strong trait within this room,” Bucky said.

Alpine jumped on Sam again. “Does stupidity require I be attacked every five seconds?”

"In special cases, yes, yes it does.”

“You’re the one who chose to sit on the floor,” Natasha reminded him.

“Do you see any open spaces elsewhere?”

Natasha cocked her head, tongue between her lips. “Depends on how imaginative and flexible you are.” She picked up Alpine who was posing to pounce again and set her on her lap. She immediately curled up and began purring. Sam threw his hands in the air. 

-

“It smells delicious, Buck.” Steve leaned against the counter as Bucky pulled the turkey out of the oven.

“Not half bad for my first attempt,” Bucky agreed. “Now it’s just time to let her sit while everything else finishes and then we’ll have ourselves a feast.” He stirred the pot on the stove.

“Need any help?”

Bucky looked into the living room. “Just keep them from destroying the house.”

Steve smiled, patted his arm, and left the kitchen. 

-

Sam looked up from his plate. “Pass the salt, will you?”

Bucky swatted Steve’s hand away and grabbed the shaker, upending it over his plate. There was complete silence. When it was empty, he set it back on the table. “Sorry, we’re out.”

Steve watched, impressed and slightly nauseated, as Bucky continued eating as normal. Sam stared at him, knuckles white and mouth stretched thin.

“Would you like some gravy with your salt?” Natasha asked, fighting a smile.

“Please,” Bucky said, taking the boat from her and pouring it into the well he’d created in his potatoes. Humming contentedly, he took another bite. Sam breathed in sharply. 

"Something wrong, Sam?" Bucky asked. 

"Your sodium intake." 

"Just trying to help you out."

There was a period of silence. 

“Everything is wonderful, Buck,” Steve said, finally breaking it. “Think you could rival some of those people on the cooking challenges you like to watch.”

“I’m not quite sure Ted Allen would like my arm,” Bucky replied. “Oh, I should have asked you, Sam. Is it okay that we’re eating a bird? I know you’re close with them.”

“Very funny.”

“I’m being very serious. I hope it wasn’t family, because I don’t know what I’d do with the guilt.”

“Then yes, it was my dear cousin, Doris. I’m very upset and you should be ashamed of yourself.”

Steve choked on his milk. Natasha clapped him on the back. He coughed, holding his napkin to his face to avoid spraying milk across the table. Bucky gave him a glance to make sure he was okay before turning back to Sam, who had just taken a large bite of turkey. When Steve recovered, he cautiously took a bite of stuffing, enjoying the crunch that came from the celery. Chopping it was the one thing he’d contributed to the meal.

Plate empty, Natasha curled one leg beneath her, pressed the other against the table, and leaned back, balancing her chair on the back legs. “So Sam, after you process the guilt of eating your dear cousin, are you ready to get your sparkly vampire persona on?” she asked. “Looks like Bucky’s nearly done with _New Moon_.”

Sam set down his fork. “Beg your pardon?”

“I seem to remember you promising that you and I would recreate a few of the iconic scenes if Bucky read the entire _Twilight _Saga.”

Sam shook his head. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

“You sure?” Steve asked. He hadn’t been in the room for the conversation, but Bucky had told him all about it.

“Yeah, no. I seem to have misplaced the memory.”

“I’m not reading those for nothing, Bird,” Bucky told him. “So you’re either recreating, or I’m kicking your ass in the basement and roasting all your cousins. Your choice.” He stared at Sam while taking a bite of turkey.

“Why am I friends with you?”

“Bucky and I are a package deal,” Steve replied. “You get me, you get him.”

“And why am I friends with you?”

Natasha reached over and pinched Steve’s cheeks. “Because who could resist such a cute face?”

-

After dinner found them sitting on the floor of the living room. Steve and Natasha sat against the couch, watching the match of rapidly flipped cards. Half the deck on the floor, both Sam and Bucky were running out of cards. Sam laid his second to last card. Bucky flipped a jack. Sam’s hand darted forward, but Bucky somehow managed to get his on top of the pile first.

“Oh, fuck you!”

Satisfied grin on Bucky’s face, he gathered the cards into his hand, tapping them against his hip to even them out. “You have to be faster than that if you want to win, Bird.”

“You only have one arm; I don’t understand.”

“Care for goats with only one arm for a couple of months and you get good. One more round?”

Steve held up his hands to deny. He’d lost enough times. He enjoyed watching the game unfold more than playing anyway.

“I’m good,” Natasha said. Alpine was curled in her lap. 

“If I win,” Sam said, “I’m out of the deal. You get nothing for reading the shitty books except for the experience of reading them.”

Bucky nodded. “Okay. But if I win, the videos go on the internet.”

Sam hesitated. He was clearly at war with himself. On one hand, get out of an embarrassing afternoon. On the other hand, embarrass himself even more. “Fine.”

“You sure, Sam?” Steve asked. “Seems like you’re putting a lot on the line.”

Sam just shrugged. “I’m pretty sure there are more embarrassing videos of me, so what the hell. Deal me in.”

Shuffling the cards, Bucky dealt and the game began. Steve found himself blinking in surprise when Sam took the first three doubles. Eva whined when he shouted in glee. He reached up and scratched her ears. Bucky didn’t look concerned that his deck was rapidly decreasing. After a round of face cards, he took a large pile. The room was silent apart from the flipping of cards. A moment later, there was another shout and loud smack as Sam secured the pile. Bucky caught Steve’s eye and winked. The game continued.

“Fuck.”

Bucky just shrugged, the barest hint of a smile on his lips as he took the full deck. “Should’ve listened to Steve. He occasionally has two brain cells to rub together.”

Steve rolled his eyes. Bucky smiled at him.

“Did you let me think I was winning to boost my moral?”

Bucky reattached his arm. “Now why would I do that?”

-

_A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving_ on the tv, they spread out across the living room to relax. Alpine still lay curled on Natasha’s lap, purring contentedly. Bucky sat on the floor between Steve’s legs, Aapeli’s head resting on his thigh. Steve idly started to braid his hair. Peggy had taught him one night when they hadn’t had anything else to do. He’d never been any good at it. When he caught Sam staring, the beginnings of a smirk on his lips, he brushed it out and stared at the screen.

-

“Hey, Nat?” Steve caught her before she closed the front door. She grunted to show she was listening. “You wouldn’t mind taking a trip to Ireland, would you? I’d rather not face the airport.” He’d mentioned his desire to go a few weeks ago when they’d gotten lunch.

“When are you going?”

“I was hoping next week, if that works for you.”

She looked down the hall to where they could just see Bucky picking up the living room. “Just you?”

"Yeah. I need to figure a few things out.”

"He’d say yes if you asked, you know.”

Steve’s stomach jolted. “Hmmm?”

Natasha rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Never mind. Just let me know when you want to go and I’ll make sure the jet’s ready.”

“Thank you.”

She nodded, kissed his cheek, and left the house.

_He’d say yes if you asked, you know_. Natasha’s words replayed through his mind. Asked what? There was no need to ask him about Ireland; Bucky already knew he wanted to go alone. They didn’t talk about everything, but they did talk about what was needed. Nothing big had come up lately. 

Steve knew it was a lie as soon as he thought it. But what was he supposed to do? It had been hard enough to say the words in therapy. How was he supposed to say them to Bucky? It didn’t matter that Bucky had kissed him. After going undiscussed for months, Steve assumed it, like most of that morning, had been swallowed by Bucky’s memory.

"Hey, Stevie?” They were sitting on the couch. Aapeli separated them. Big band swing music was playing. 

"Hmm.”

Bucky bit his lip. His voice was small when he finally spoke. “If you had the choice, would you choose this version of me?”

Steve furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”

Bucky shook his head and made to move. Steve grabbed his sleeve. He reluctantly sat back on the couch and took a deep breath. Aapeli put her head on his lap. He didn’t look at Steve when he elaborated.

“If you could have the version of me from before all of this, would you rather have him? Clean and unbroken?”

The question settled itself in Steve’s stomach. He’d never thought about that before. “What would make you think that?”

Bucky gave a small shrug. “Dream.”

“Well, I’m happy with what I got,” Steve told him. “So you can tell your dreams to get with the updated program.” From the sliver of Bucky’s face he could see, Steve could tell he didn’t believe him. “I’ll be right back. Stay, please.”

Steve stood and walked to the hallway. Before he turned down it, he looked back to see him curl himself into a ball, head on Aapeli’s hind leg. Walking to his room, he went straight to his desk and rummaged through his drawers. He knew it was somewhere. After Peggy’s funeral, they’d given him a few boxes of she’d marked for him. Most of it was still too hard to look at. Finding what he was looking for, he returned to the living room. Instead of sitting back on the couch, he crouched in front of Bucky and held out the frame. Bucky took it.

“This was the kid that version of you spent your time with. That kid loved that version of you; they were the odd pieces that somehow fit together. I’m not that scrawny little kid anymore, and you’re not that cocky young man. The two of us? We match. We might be broken separately, but put us together and there’s a semi-complete piece. So there’s your answer.”

Bucky continued staring at the photo. Steve stood, suddenly exhausted. “I’m going to bed. Don’t stay up all night thinking about this, okay?” Feeling incredibly bold, he leaned down, kissed his head like when they’d been kids, and returned to his room, shutting the door behind him.

***

The question had just escaped him. He hadn't meant to ask it. He hadn't wanted to ask it. But like always, Steve had known exactly what to say. They weren't those people anymore. He brushed his thumb over the photo again. He'd been beautiful back then. Bucky remembered thinking that every time Steve had walked into the room. He didn't understand how no one else had seen it. 

Setting the frame on his desk, Bucky pulled out his chair and sat, grabbing his journal, clicker, and pen. _15._ That was the number of times he’d realized he was happy. Opening to a fresh page, he wrote the date and started to list what he could remember.

_Walking during the sunrise. _

_Hearing Stevie sing while in the shower. _

_Making Thanksgiving dinner. _

_Teasing Sam._

_Teasing Stevie. _

_Stevie saying we’re a package deal. _

_Beating Sam at cards._

_All four of us together like it’s normal. _

_Stevie playing with my hair. _

_Stevie kissing my head after reassuring me my nightmares are just that. _

He stared at the list. The list stared back at him. The other five instances eluded him. But just because he couldn’t recall them didn’t mean they didn’t happen. He needed to remember that. Finishing the rest of his entry, he looked at the list one last time, closed his journal and got ready for bed. His last thought before shutting off his light and climbing into bed was that even if he only had Steve, he’d still be happy.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Take care of yourself out there, Steve. It’s dangerous, taking all that stupid with you.” 
> 
> This is a monster chapter. Sorry and enjoy these fucking idiots.

“So, you’re heading out soon?” Dr. Scheinbaum asked. She’d closed her portfolio and leaned back in her chair. It had been a good session.

“Tomorrow morning,” Steve said. “Natasha’s taking me. She’s a better pilot than me.” Eva looked up and him and he scratched her head.

“So I’ve heard.” Dr. Scheinbaum smiled. “How long are you there?”

Steve shook his head. “I’m not sure yet. As long as I need to in order to figure out everything I’ve been told to think about.” He gave her a wry smile and she smiled in return.

“I’m looking forward to hearing about everything. You have my number, correct?” Steve patted his phone. “If you need anything-”

“I’ll call. I promise.”

“You take care of yourself out there, Steve. Remember what we’ve said: just because you’re not working yourself to a panic attack doesn’t mean you’re not making progress. Let yourself enjoy this.”

"This is something I’ve been wanting to do for a long while,” Steve told her. “It would be rather sad if I spent most of it in an existential crisis. I’ve already had enough of those.”

“You’ve come a long way, Steve. I’m glad you’re finally taking some time for yourself.” She stood and walked him to the door of her office. “I’ll see you when you get home.”

Bucky and Aapeli weren’t in the house when he returned home. A note by the door informed him they were on a walk. Unhooking Eva’s lead, Steve kicked off his shoes and followed her into the living room. She looked up at him for permission before jumping on the couch and curling up. Leaning over, Steve ruffled her ears and walked to his room.

Headphones on and the _High Kings_ on shuffle, Steve stared at his closet. He had no idea how to start packing; he’d never had to do it—not really. Packing for missions was easy. His suit, a few shirts, pants. More often than not, Natasha had just thrown things in a bag for him. A trip for himself was uncharted territory. He didn’t even know what he was going to do, not really. Start in Dublin, maybe find the graves of his grandparents. That was all he had planned. If he wanted to go anywhere, he’d take the train.

Steve pulled out a handful of sweaters and sweatshirts and tossed them on his bed. The hardest part was that he didn’t know how long he was going to be gone. He wanted to be home before Christmas, but he didn’t know if that was going to happen. It all depended on how much he was able to work out. A few button-downs joined the pile on the bed. If he stayed through Christmas, he’d thought about going to Mass as an homage to his ma. He’d stopped going after she died. It never felt right without her beside him.

Adding some jeans and a pair of nice slacks, he grabbed a handful of thick socks and boxers to the pile, sat on the edge of his bed and began folding. After a moment of thought, he added some running clothes and continued.

A touch on the shoulder startled him. Bucky held up a large duffle. Steve took out his headphones.

“Might help if you have a bag to put your clothes in, don’t you think?” Bucky asked.

Steve chuckled and took the bag from him. “Knew I was forgetting something.” He began packing the newly folded sweaters.

Bucky sat on an empty patch of bed. “So you’re really going, huh?”

Steve stopped in his packing and sat beside him. “I’ll be back before you know it. Who knows, maybe you’ll actually have some peace and quiet since I’m taking all the stupid out of the house.”

Bucky managed a smile and small laugh. “That’s a relief.”

"We’ll go some time; this is just a trip I need to take myself.”

"I know.” He rubbed his thighs, not looking at him. “When’s Nat picking you up?”

“Early tomorrow morning. So we still have most of today if you wanted to do anything.”

Bucky shook his head. “Maybe just a long walk this afternoon and movie tonight. I’m kinda tired.”

The bags under his eyes were starting to get worse again. A knot of worry tied itself in his stomach. “You’re not still thinking about that dream of yours are you? Because Buck, I assure you, you’re all I need.”

“It’s not that. I just haven’t been sleeping that well lately. Nothing you need to worry about.” He met Steve’s gaze and smiled. “I’m serious, Steve. I’m fine.” He stood and started walking to the door. “I’m going to the store to pick up some things for dinner. You should finish packing.”

“Do you want me to go with?”

Bucky shook his head. “Finish packing. I’ll be back soon.”

Steve watched Bucky from the couch. He’d tried to see if he could help with dinner but Bucky had refused to let him in the kitchen. He needed the space, he said. After being trusted to help since Thanksgiving, it had hurt to be pushed to the sides again. But he wasn’t going to dwell on it.

To anyone else looking on, nothing would seem off in the way Bucky was standing. His stance was relaxed and there was a small smile lifting the corner of his lips. But Steve knew better. He knew the tension that was knotting his shoulders and the smile was too forced to be real. It couldn’t be easy for him, being told he was all Steve needed and then being left. But everything would be fine. Steve needed everything to be fine because he needed to leave. He needed the change. 

And it wasn’t like he was the first to leave. Bucky hadn’t told him before going to enlist. He’d just returned to their apartment one day with a 1A on his enlistment form. That was the time Steve needed him the most and he just decided to put his life on the line. Steve sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. Now he was just being petty. If Bucky hadn’t enlisted, he would’ve been conscripted. Steve still would have found a way to follow him. Nothing would have changed. They’d still be here. Steve would still be leaving.

Bucky chose the movie that night. _Treasure Planet_. It was silent the entire film. They stayed on their separate sides of the couch. When Steve finally went to bed, Bucky’s door was closed.

The sun had barely risen but they’d both been up for hours. Steve hadn’t been able to sleep, so he’d went to the basement. It had been a long while since he’d taken out his anxiety on the bags. His knuckles were still sore, but he felt better than he had before. After a quick shower, he’d double checked his duffle and backpack and sat on the couch, staring at his sketchbook. His pencil stayed motionless. Bucky had joined him shortly after, picking up his book. He was now reading _Eclipse._

When there was a knock on the door, Steve nearly sighed in relief. For a while, he’d considered asking Nat if they could leave earlier, but decided against it.

"Come on in,” he said, standing aside for Natasha. She looked comfortable in a pair of tight black leggings and leather jacket. “I’ll be just a minute. I just need to grab my things from my room.”

“No rush,” she assured him, walking to the living room and sitting on the arm of the couch.

He tried not to look at Bucky when he walked to his room. Eva had curled up on his bed after he’d showered; she looked up as he entered and wagged her tail. Leaving his bags where they were he went and sat beside her, crumpling so his head was on her shoulder.

“You’re a good girl,” he murmured. She breathed out heavily in response. He sat up, scratching her shoulder. “You ready to go, baby girl?”

She jumped off the bed and stretched. Wagging her tail, she came and sat beside him. Her tongue lolled when she looked up at him. There was so much trust and love in her eyes. After giving her one last scratch behind the ears, he grabbed his bags and started for the living room, Eva at his side. He stopped cold when he heard talking.

“He’ll be fine, Bucky. Steve knows how to take care of himself.”

"You haven’t been hearing him at night, Nat. He won’t talk about them, but I know his dreams are getting worse again. I do what I can, but Eva and I haven’t been able to wake him up. I’m just afraid he’s going to hurt himself.”

Steve frowned. He hadn’t been able to remember his dreams for the past week, but he had been waking up exhausted. He rubbed at the bruises on his arm.

"Bucky, he’s going to be okay,” Natasha said again. “He’s a big boy now.”

Bucky sighed. Steve inched forward to see him sitting with his head in his hands. “I know. He’s never needed me, not really.”

“So that’s what this is about.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” There was a defensive edge to Bucky’s words.

He could just see Natasha’s eyebrow lift. “Are you worried about Steve, or are you worried about you?”

Bucky didn’t answer. Steve took a deep breath and continued into the living room. Trying to act as normal as possible he looked to Natasha. “I’m ready if you are.”

"I’ll be in the car.” From the look on her face, he knew she knew he’d listened in. She took Steve’s duffle from him and left the house.

Steve walked to the couch. “I’ll be back before you know it,” he told Bucky. “Won’t even notice I’m gone.”

Bucky didn’t turn to look at him. “Just like I wasn’t supposed to notice all your cuts and bruises when you were younger?”

The words delivered themselves like a punch. “Buck.”

Bucky shook his head, rubbing his eyes with his palm. “I’m sorry, that was uncalled for. Haven’t slept well lately.”

“Well, that makes two of us.” Bucky still didn’t turn. “You know I’m only a phone call away if you need anything. It’s not like I’ll be off the grid.”

“I know.”

Steve waited. Bucky’s back remained towards him. Steve nodded to himself and went to grab his backpack. Movement on the couch had him turning back and pulling Bucky in for a hug. After a moment of hesitation, Bucky hugged him back, pressing his face into Steve’s neck. He pulled away slightly, their noses almost touching. Steve bit his bottom lip at the unreadable expression in Bucky’s eyes. It would be so easy to close the distance. But then he would never leave. And he needed to. He fully extricated himself, patted Bucky’s shoulder and grabbed his backpack and Eva’s leash. Bucky followed him to the door, standing on the sidewalk.

“Take care of yourself out there, Steve. It’s dangerous, taking all that stupid with you.”

Steve laughed and Bucky smiled. He was glad he got to see it once before he left. “You can rest assured, Buck. Surviving stupidity is one of my talents.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. Steve pulled him in for another hug. This time it was Bucky who pulled away. “Natasha’s waiting,” he reminded him. “Go have fun. We’ll be fine here. Who know, maybe actually get some rest without your snoring to keep us awake.”

Steve huffed. “I don’t snore!”

Bucky raised his eyebrows, the smallest smile lifting his lips. “You keep telling yourself that, Stevie.”

Steve smiled. Readjusting his backpack, he started to walk towards the car. “I’ll let you know when we land.” He threw the words over his shoulder.

“Just go already.”

Throwing his backpack in the trunk with his duffle, he opened the back door for Eva. When she was settled, he slid in the passenger seat and buckled his seatbelt.

“Ready?” Natasha asked.

Steve nodded. When he thought to look back, Bucky was gone.

"When are you going to tell Bucky how you feel, Steve?” The plane had been in the air for an hour. Steve had just joined Natasha in the cockpit, leaving Eva asleep by his bags.

"What do you mean?”

She turned to look at him. “Don’t play stupid with me, Steve. I have eyes and you’re not very subtle.”

“Is it really that obvious?” As soon as he said it, he knew it was. Playing with his hair, holding his hand in public…

“You light up like a candle whenever he so much as smiles.”

Steve buried his face in his hands. If Natasha knew, Bucky had to. But he’d never said anything. Never pulled away when Steve put his head on his shoulder. And he’d been the one to kiss Steve. “I love him,” he finally said. It felt good to say the words out loud again.

“He feels the same about you.” The words jolted him. Natasha laughed. “You really didn’t know, did you?” 

Steve shrugged. “I’d dreamed, but never let myself really hope.”

“Why haven’t you told him?”

Steve shrugged again, staring at the sea of clouds. “I have. It was just in a really inopportune time.”

Natasha put the plane on autopilot and turned to face him. It was clear she wanted the story. Steve sighed.

“I never told him the real reason I put the plane in the water,” he started. “He learned when we were having our first interviews for Eva and Aapeli. Of course, I panicked and left the house, avoiding him until after therapy. I still don’t really remember much from that day. The next morning, he threw a knife at my head. We fought. I told him I loved him and he went in the garden. I followed him a little while later and told him the full story. He kissed me. We’ve never talked about it.”

Natasha shook her head. “You’re idiots, the both of you.”

“Why? Because we’re being conscious of one another and the fact that we’re trying to move on from the past?”

“Because you make each other happy, and it’s clear you’re not going to do anything about that unless you’re pushed. You want to kiss him, right?”

Steve continued staring ahead. His cheeks were growing hot.

“Why don’t you?”

"Because the last time Bucky kissed me, he had a panic attack and cried for an hour.” It was pointless to beat around the bush in a conversation with Natasha. “Yes, I wanted to kiss him before leaving, but there would have been nothing more irresponsible. I’m stupid, not reckless.”

“You need to talk to him eventually. It’s only going to eat you if you don’t. You’ve already lost so much. It would be a shame if it was your fear that held you back from the happiness you both deserve.”

Not wanting to hear anymore, Steve left the cockpit and went to sit by Eva. She rested her chin on his thigh. Headphones on, he closed his eyes and tried to ignore the thoughts running in circles around his mind.

***

Bucky shut the door after watching the car turn out of the driveway. He couldn’t watch Steve drive away. Changing into a pair of sweats and a loose shirt, he went into the basement. He needed more than a walk to clear his head. Without wrapping his hand, he punched the bag, relishing in the shock wave that ran up his right arm.

Why should he care that Steve left? He made his choice. Left Bucky behind like he was nothing. As far as he knew, he hadn’t even looked back. But then again, Bucky hadn’t stayed long enough to see. He punched.

With a twisted smile, he realized this must have been what Steve felt like when he’d first left for the war. But he hadn’t had a choice, not really. Even if he hadn’t enlisted, he would have been conscripted. He still would be broken. He punched the bag. He would still be in pain every day. He punched the bag again. Nightmares would still claim him every night. And again. The image of Steve standing over him with a smile as he secured him to the chair returned; he’d told him everything would be okay; he’d said he wouldn’t leave. And again.

Sweat plastered his hair to his face. Knuckles bruised and bleeding, he kept punching. He only stopped when the bag flew off the chain. Breath heavy, he walked over and threw it in the corner, where the other destroyed bags sat. It had been months since they’d needed to put up a new one. He continued long after his mind was blank.

He spent a long time under the hot spray of the shower. It was where the thought wormed its way into his mind. As far as Bucky knew, Steve didn’t keep a journal. His sketchbooks served that purpose. He hated the idea of looking through his things, but the thought wouldn’t let him go. If he’d left because of Bucky, his sketchbook would tell him. Almost mechanically, he turned the water off and stepped out of the shower.

After dressing, he sat on Steve’s floor, old sketchbooks around him. In the time they’d lived in this house, he’d gone through four. He’d packed the one Sam gave him. _Don’t do it_. He picked one up. _Think about how you’d feel if he went through your journal._ He flipped it open. And stared. His face stared back. There were no shadows beneath his eyes. He turned the page. Flowers covered the scars on his shoulder. His hands cupped a sunflower. He brushed the graphite of his carefully constructed cheekbones and closed eyes. Steve had made him beautiful.

The entire book was the same.

He didn’t look at the others.

***

Steve had given up after an hour of trying to relax. Natasha hadn’t said anything when he climbed back in the cockpit and sat. After a while, they started talking about nothing of importance, the way they had when Natasha’s only goal was to make sure he wasn’t alone.

Four hours later, Natasha began the descent. When green fields became visible, a weight lifted from Steve’s shoulders. He’d wanted to come here ever since his ma had first told him about the rolling hills and fierce waves. He never thought he’d get the chance.

"It certainly has its charm,” Natasha said.

“It’s home.” At least it would’ve been had his parents not crossed the sea. How different his life would’ve been had that been the case.

“Where did they live?”

"My ma lived in a small village outside Dublin. I don’t know where my father lived.” He frowned as he realized it. Dead before Steve was born, there wasn’t a whole lot he did know about his father. His ma hadn’t often talked about him. It had been just the two of them until he’d meet Bucky.

Natasha landed and turned to him. “About what I said earlier-”

Steve held up his hand to stop her. “It’s been on the pile of things I need to figure out for a while.” He stood and gathered his things. After making sure Eva’s vest was secure, he clipped her leash on. “Thanks for the flight.”

“Anytime. Just let me know when you want to come home and I’ll be here within twelve hours.” She kissed his cheek. “Be safe out there.”

Steve smiled. “You know me.”

Natasha returned the grin. “Unfortunately.”

It was raining when Steve woke the next morning. He rolled over, pressing his face into his pillow. Eva was still deep in her dream. The sheets felt strange; a little scratchy, not the soft cotton he’d grown used to. Panic lit him until he remembered. He wasn’t in Brooklyn. He sat up and looked out the window. A few people walked the cobbled streets. Eva stretched, bracing her front paws against his leg.

“We’re finally here, baby girl,” he said. “We’re home.” Steve looked out the window again. The spire of Christ Church Cathedral was just visible through the fog. “You up for some exploring today?”

She just blinked up at him, heaving a breath. Steve looked down at his pajamas.

“You’re right. I should change first.” He pulled himself out of bed and rummaged through his duffle, pulling out his thick grey sweater and a pair of jeans. “Acceptable?” Once again, she blinked. Steve ruffled her ears and changed.

The rain had stopped by the time they stepped outside. Weak, early morning sun attempted to filter through the cloud covered sky. They made their way towards the Liffey. Steve kept the leash twined tightly around his fist as people pressed against him. Eva looked up at him. He touched her head, breathing deeply.

He was walking down a small side street when he saw a green grocer. A small church sat across from it. Stomach growling, he walked into the small store. Breakfast hadn’t yet been ready when he’d made his way down from his room. Steve nodded to the man behind the counter and grabbed a basket. It wouldn’t hurt to buy a fair amount of produce. Long days of walking needed snacks, and according to Bucky, he got grumpy when he was hungry.

Steve walked past the potatoes, breathing in the earthy scent that still reminded him of his ma. He could still picture her coming in, a small bag of them on her arm. That had always meant soup, and soup meant company. Company meant the Barnes’. Steve shook his head and went to look at the peppers. Basket full, he went to the counter. The man began counting the peppers, apples and carrots.

“€12.50,” he said.

Steve handed over the money, packed the food in his bag and left. There was a small bakery beside it. A few minutes later with a coffee and bagel in hand, they kept walking.

By the time they reached the entrance of Phoenix Park, the clouds had started to disperse and Steve wished he’d thought to bring his sketch book. The field stretched itself out, broken by periods of hills and swathes of trees. A herd of deer huddled in the distance. They kept walking. Steve refused to think about how quiet and empty it felt without Bucky at his side humming.

The train was quiet. His duffle was under his seat. Eva sat between his knees. He kept one hand on her shoulder, his foot tapping erratically. A few people watched him, diverting their gazes when he caught them staring. Her vest said everything. It labeled him. He’d never minded until now. He looked out the window, watching the landscape blur. His only thought of comfort was that at least he didn’t have a metal arm.

Steve was strangely nervous, stepping into the station. He’d imagined this day for his entire life. It wasn’t quite how he’d pictured it—his ma wasn’t with him—but he’d finally made it to where she grew up. The village wasn’t on the cliffs like he’d pictured after all her stories of the sea, but nestled by the Wicklow Mountains. Framed by the setting sun, Steve couldn’t picture a more beautiful place to grow up.

It didn’t take him long to find the tiny cottage he’d been able to rent. He’d decided that if he was crying out in his dreams like Bucky claimed, he didn’t want to stay in a hotel. The last thing he wanted to do was disturb other people. Dropping his bags at the foot of his bed, he went to sit in the yard, a mug of tea cupped between his palms and his sketchbook beneath his arm. It was the first time the cold hadn’t bothered him.

The past week had been a blur. He hadn’t wanted to think yet, so he’d kept himself moving until exhaustion required he sleep. It had been almost a year since he’d pushed himself to that level of overexertion. He’d slept for days after completing missions, yes, but this was different. Stopping meant thinking, so he didn’t stop. Two days ago, he’d hiked around the cliffs of Howth twice. Eva had fallen asleep on the train home. It hadn’t taken him long when he got in bed. If he’d had any dreams, he didn’t remember them.

He couldn’t remember the last time he woke feeling so rested. _When you slept in Bucky’s arms. _He pushed the thought away and sketched the mountains. After a moment of thought, he drew two figures walking towards them. One small, one slightly larger. Hand in hand.

Steve couldn’t sleep that night. After hours of staring at the ceiling, he swung out of bed, careful not to disturb Eva, and went to sit in the chair by the window. The night was calm. Bright stars interrupted the dark canvas of sky. It had been a long time since he’d been able to see them. The smog and lights of New York choked them, a reminder to everyone that they shouldn’t reach past their pre-determined stations. Not like Steve had. But he’d always been taught to dream.

_Whatever you dream, you can be_, his mother had told him one particularly clear night_. _He’d been six._ But you’re going to have to fight for it. People are going to spend your whole life taking one look at your body and telling you what you can’t do. But they can’t see like I do. It holds a heart ten times its size. You got no quit in you. _

Steve looked at his hands. At how big they were. At how much more they could do than before. He wondered if his ma would still be able to recognize him. She would recognize the fight, but would she be able to recognize anything else? Would she still see the little boy with a heart so big it could fit the entire block? He wasn’t convinced. He’d done so many terrible things. He’d changed, and not all for the better. His fingernails pressed crescents into his palm.

He’d been a terrible son in so many ways. Bruises and cuts and broken bones. It was a miracle he wasn’t six feet under. The first day Bucky had brought him home unscathed had been a happy day. He’d been angry when he left the house.

It hadn’t taken him long to realize the way he felt for him. How could it? He was the confidence and swagger Steve only pretended to have. He’d tried to hide it for her sake—she didn’t need another reason to be worried about him—but subtlety had never been his strong suit. A part of him figured she always knew. She hadn’t tried to keep him away. She cared for Bucky as if he were another son. If she knew the way he felt, she hadn’t cared. 

An intense ache of loneliness washed over him. Tears pressed themselves, hot and impatient, at the corner of his eyes. He blinked hard, trying not to let them fall. They ignored him. He missed her. And despite being in her home village, he felt further from her than ever.

Dawn hadn’t broken yet when he walked to the old village cemetery. He’d left Eva at the cottage, asleep. After everything he’d been putting her through, it was the least he could do to let her rest. And he wasn’t planning on being gone for long. He had a bouquet of pink and white carnations in his hand, a recommendation from the shop owner.

It was as small as he’d expected it to be, with rows of fading and cracked headstones. He made his way through the rows towards the back, where a large mountain ash grew tall and sturdy. The graves he was looking for were nestled at its roots.

_Conor Byrne_

_Beloved Husband and Father _

_Born 1827-Died 1892 _

_Catríona Byrne_

_Beloved Wife and Mother_

_Born 1829-Died 1895_

He set the flowers between them and sat, knees to his chest, not caring that the cold ground was slightly wet. It was nice being with other family. For so long, it had just been him and his ma.

“So, um, this is your grandson, Steve,” he cleared his throat, not really knowing what he was doing. It had been a long time since he’d visited a cemetery; a visit to his ma’s grave was long past due. “I know you’re probably thinking that I’m too young to be your grandchild, but I promise, it’s true. Sarah was my ma. I just thought I’d come and introduce myself, so you know we haven’t forgotten you.”

He bit his lip and hung his head, looking at his hands, trying to think of what to say. He was glad no one else was around. 

“I, uh, I was a feisty kid. I know you wouldn’t believe it, seeing as how I look now, but I was really small and sickly. Liked to get into a lot of fights. Drove Ma crazy, seeing me come home with a new injury every other day. We didn’t have much, but we were happy. Almost every night she would tell me stories of home, of you.” He raised his head and bit the inside of his cheek. “She told me of how you would sneak home sweets whenever you could, _Daideó, _and how you would scold him, _Maimeó. _Mostly she told me about how all three of you would sing and dance together; of how happy you were.

“Ma tried to teach me how to sing, but I’ve got no sense of musical ability. Can’t carry a tune to save my life.” He breathed a laugh. “My friend tried to teach me how to dance, but that went about as well as you can imagine. He’s still alive too, if you can picture it. Think he still wants to teach me how to dance. Maybe I’ll let him when I go back.”

It felt good to talk just as Steve. There was no need to talk about his titles and the mess his life had become. There was no reason to talk of battles and victories. There was just the comfort of family and speaking his childhood language. There was just talking about the things that really mattered. 

He took a deep breath and tightened his coat around him. The sun had just started to rise above the mountains. “I don’t know how you would’ve liked Brooklyn, but we would’ve loved you there. I just wish I could’ve met you. I hope I’ve made you proud.” 

Steve stood, dusted off his pants and left the cemetery, walking slowly towards the cottage. The village was just beginning to wake up. He smiled at the café owner who’d just flipped the sign on his door. After a second of thought, he entered and purchased a coffee and muffin, leaving a tip many times the amount he owed.

He didn’t know how he felt. His chest was tight, but he felt lighter. He had family beyond his ma, beyond Bucky and Nat and Sam. And, he realized while sipping his coffee, it felt good.

***

Bucky tried not to constantly check his phone. He normally wasn’t like this. Normally, he tried not to be tied to it. But that was when Steve was here.

After letting him know he’d made it, Steve hadn’t contacted him. It had been a week. Bucky tried not to let it bother him—Steve was busy exploring and discovering his heritage, and Bucky was happy for him, he really was—but the thought that he didn’t want to talk to him had lodged itself into his mind. After all, he had left. And he hadn’t wanted Bucky to come with him.

Bucky picked at his food. It was a rare occasion of take out, but he couldn’t bring himself to cook. With his roaming thoughts and dissociation, he didn’t trust himself in the kitchen at the moment. So he’d ordered in and thanked the young woman who’d brought him his meal.

Maybe Bucky had just been imagining the shifting dynamic between them. After all, they’d always been affectionate as kids. Being close to each other, heads on shoulders, sleeping in the same bed, it had all been normal. It had helped keep Steve warm. At least, that’s what they played it off as if anyone ever asked. It was either sleep in the same bed or have Steve freeze to death, and Bucky sure as hell wasn’t going to let that happen.

He looked at his phone again.

Maybe there was nothing to their nights on the couch, laughter between them. Maybe he was just reading into the lingering glances. Maybe the thumb brushing away the eyelash was just that.

But why spend all that time drawing him if there wasn’t something there? Well, something had always been there. At least for him. Maybe Steve felt it to. Maybe Steve had left because he didn’t think Bucky felt the same. But why not say anything? He dropped his head into his hand. Alpine meowed and batted his arm.

“You eat $50 of cat food on the regular, Pine. I can’t feed you every single piece of chicken from my dinner…again.”

She meowed again, pressing her head against him and purring.

“Fine,” Bucky said. “But this is your last piece okay? I don’t want you getting sick.” He took a small sliver of chicken from his meal and blew on it to cool it down before giving it to her. Aapeli looked up at him with big eyes. Bucky sighed and gave her a piece as well. He might be considered the most feared assassin of all time, but present to him a begging dog and he would cave within a second.

His wandering mind made sure sleeping wasn’t an option that night. Instead, Bucky was curled up on the couch with a cup of tea and a book. He was a hundred pages away from finishing _Eclipse_, and if he couldn’t sleep, he was going to be damn sure he finished it. Sam wasn’t going to be able to rest easy for much longer. He was as content as his anxiety would let him be. 

When his phone buzzed, he nearly threw the book across the room.

> STEVE [2:30 AM]: Talked to my grandparents this morning
> 
> ME [2:30 AM]: You good? Cemeteries can be hard
> 
> STEVE [2:33 AM]: Yeah. I am actually. Felt good to talk about nothing, you know?
> 
> STEVE [2:33 AM]: You should be sleeping.
> 
> ME [2:35 AM]: Tried that
> 
> STEVE [2:36 AM]: :(
> 
> STEVE [2:37 AM] Want some company?

Before Bucky could type his response, the soft chime of FaceTime sounded. With a swipe of his finger, Steve’s face filled his screen. The picture was grainy, but he was there. He looked happy, if not a little tired.

“Hey,” Bucky said. He already felt lighter. “How is it so far? Is it everything you hoped for?” His voice almost shook in his giddiness. He forced himself to take a couple of deep breaths.

“Yes and no.” Steve turned his head, looking out a window based on the shadows on his face. “But it’s nice here,” he said, turning back. “Really nice.”

"I’m glad for you.” Bucky looked around at the living room. Giving an honest assessment, it was a mess. He would do a deep clean later. “Not much has happened back here other than getting about a foot of snow. That was fun.”

Steve pouted. “I missed the first snow?”

Bucky shrugged. “That’s what you get when you’re halfway across the world, Steve.”

Steve’s brow furrowed as he stuck out his bottom lip even further. Bucky chuckled to himself. He’d almost called Steve when it first started to snow, but it had been late in Ireland; he hadn’t wanted to wake him.

"Did you make the snowman?”

Bucky shook his head. He’d pulled a couple blankets over him with a cup of hot chocolate and watched the snow fall instead. “No. It wouldn’t’ve felt right to make it without you.”

Steve had been fifteen when he burst into the Barnes’ apartment covered in snow and freezing cold, demanding that Bucky come out and build a snowman with him. ‘The snow was perfect’ he had said. Bucky had known better than to object. When the building was done, it had been bigger than Steve. Every year since, they’d built on the first major snowfall of the year.

“We’ll build when I get home,” Steve decided.

Bucky nodded. That would be fun. A semblance of their old routine, before wars and serums and ice. He wondered how far and hard he could throw a snowball. Steve kept talking, telling Bucky about the adventures he and Eva were having. Bucky yawned, exhaustion finally hitting him. It would be easy to fall asleep, but he didn’t want to hang up. If he had his clicker on him, he would have pressed it as soon as Steve’s face appeared on his screen.

“I should let you sleep,” Steve said. There was a soft smile on his lips. Not quite Bucky’s smile, but close.

"I’m fine,” Bucky assured. He was betrayed by another big yawn. “You were saying something about Killarney?”

Steve rolled his eyes. “It’s hard to have a conversation when the other half is drifting.” Bucky couldn’t argue with that. He was normally the one who needed to tell Steve that.

"Come on,” Steve said. “I’ll tell you a story. I have quite a debt to pay for all the ones you’ve given me.”

Bucky let out a small gasp. “You were supposed to be asleep for those!”

Steve shrugged. Bucky couldn’t be sure, given the quality of the picture, but he was pretty sure Steve was blushing. “Guilty as charged. Now get comfortable—you can’t sleep with a book and tea on you.”

He stayed still until Steve’s soft eyes turned into a stern glare. Heaving a sigh, Bucky gave in. After draining the last of his tea, he set the mug and book safely on the end table and turned off the lamp; the only light left was from the moon on the snow and the glow from the screen. He situated himself as comfortably as he could and pulled the blanket up under his chin. It wasn’t the warmth of Steve, but it would have to do.

Seeing that Bucky was settled, Steve began to talk quietly in Irish. It was smart, seeing as Bucky didn’t know the language well enough to hang onto the words and try to make sense of what he was saying. All he heard was music. He tried to keep his eyes open for as long as he could, wanting to witness the happiness that always lit Steve’s face when he was able to speak his native language, but it didn’t take long for them to close. Mind finally quiet, he fell asleep with the soothing words and didn’t dream.

-

“Is there anything else you want to talk about today, Bucky?” Dr. Scheinbaum asked. It had been a week since the night on the couch.

They’d spent the session exploring how he was managing his feelings of guilt. Bucky had to admit he was getting better. It was still hard for him occasionally to accept that he was as much a victim as the others, but those times were getting farther and farther in between. He never thought he would be able to say this, but he was starting to move on.

Bucky bit back the words he really wanted to say. “The clicker has been helping,” he said instead. “I’ve become a lot more conscious of the things that make me happy and the things that don’t.”

Despite the times his mind won out and spun in anxious circles, he _had _been happy this week. He’d cooked new meals for himself and sang along to his favorite songs. He bought a new book to start after _Breaking Dawn_, one that focused on how things worked and how average people could make them; he’d wanted to be an engineer before the war, and the desire to make things had never left. He and Aapeli had went to play in the snow, and the cold hadn’t triggered any flashbacks.

But, if he had learned anything from Steve’s absence, it was how much his happiness was tied up with Steve’s presence. It wasn’t that he couldn’t be happy without him—he’d proven to himself that he was perfectly content and occasionally happier when he was alone in the house—it was that there were more reasons to laugh when he was around.

“And how has writing about them gone? Are you finding it easier than before, now that you’re becoming more finely tuned to the types of things that make you happy?”

“I’m in love with Steve Rogers.” The words escaped his mouth in a tumble. He hadn’t expected to say them. He’d buried them deep for so long.

If Dr. Scheinbaum was surprised at his proclamation, she kept it well hidden. He realized she was waiting for him to continue. He rubbed Aapeli’s ear between his fingers. His knee jiggled.

“I’ve always known it, but I could never do anything about it. I mean, we were always physical as kids, but it was easy to talk away because of Steve’s condition. Both the physical and the stupid. And now…” he trailed off, shaking his head.

“And now?”

“I don’t know. One day he’s brushing an eyelash from my cheek and the next he’s acting like nothing happened. I want to believe he feels the same, it feels like he does. And sometimes I think why not just act, why not just kiss him again and see what happens? I almost did on Halloween.”

“What happened?”

“He’s still grieving Peggy. It’s been less than a decade from the very beginning for him. Less than five from the last time he’d seen her and they’d both been young.” He shook his head. “He told me the night before I fell from the train that he was considering asking her to marry him. She’d been gone for less than a year. How am I supposed to compete with that?” 

There was a look on Dr. Scheinbaum’s face that disappeared as quickly as it appeared. “Tell me the worst thing that could happen if you kissed Steve.”

The words slipped from his mouth easily. “He would panic and never want to see me again. For all I know he thinks of me as nothing but a good friend, and like I said, our relationship has always been physical. We’re basically back to the way we were before everything. Maybe I should just forget the way I feel and focus on that. We’re friends. Maybe we’re not supposed to be more than that.”

“Trying to forget the way you feel won’t work, Bucky.” She paused, frowning to herself as she tried to think of the best way to phrase what she wanted to say. “Think of it this way. If you’re spending all your energy trying to forget something, you’re thinking about what you want to forget. Therefore, you’re never going to forget it. Active forgetting is a circle that will lead you nowhere but distress. The only way out is straight through the middle.” 

“I can’t lose him. Not after everything.”

“Why are you so sure he’s going to leave?”

“Because he already did,” Bucky said. “It’s stupid and irrational and I know it’s false, but the smallest part of me can’t help but believe the reason Steve didn’t want me to come with him to Ireland is because it was the only way to get space; to get away from me. So if on the smallest chance that part of me is right, if I tell him that I love him he’ll leave.”

“But what if he doesn’t?”

Bucky looked up at her. “Has he said anything to you?”

“You know perfectly well that I’m not allowed to talk of what my other patients tell me.”

Her face was a perfectly unreadable mask. And yet, a small spark of hope ignited in Bucky’s chest. Maybe he wasn’t making up the small moments between them. Maybe, just maybe, Steve was as scared as he was. And he couldn’t discount the fact that Steve had kissed him back. He was sure of it now. A small, hopeful smile lifted his lips.

“What’s the middle, Bucky?”

There was no hesitation in Bucky’s words. “I’m going to tell Steve how I feel. I’m going to tell him that I’m in love with him.”

***

Fog rose from the hills like steam, obscuring Steve’s view of the mountains. He slowed to a stop, wiping the sweat from his brow. Eva panted heavily next to him. She was turning into quite the running partner. Steve had to admit he enjoyed having the company. He was forced to stay conscious of his surroundings with her; he couldn’t simply put in his headphones and run until his body was at the brink of collapse.

They’d left the village behind this morning, running into the hills beyond. Apart from the odd sheep, there was no one else around. Steve closed his eyes and took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the cold, clear air. It was so different from the smog of Brooklyn. He felt as if he could actually breathe here. When they’d stood for long enough for goosebumps to erupt on his skin, Steve turned back towards the village.

The café owner greeted him when he entered, ordering a large black coffee with a touch of cream and two blueberry muffins. Breakfast in hand, he started back to the cottage, leisurely sipping his coffee as had been his routine for the past week. He’d just started on the first of his muffins when he saw three large men approach a young woman. She tried to keep walking, but they moved to block her path.

Steve walked to her side. “Is there a problem here?” he asked. He looked to the woman, trying to assure her that he was there to help. She looked more annoyed than scared. 

“Nothing that concerns you, mate,” the taller of the three men said.

“Seems that it does, as you’ve made Kathleen late for our meeting.” He prayed the men didn’t actually know her and were just hoping to frighten her into giving them her purse.

The man on the right leered at him. “That’s not her name, pretty boy.”

Steve sighed. “It was worth a try. Let her go and I’ll let you leave unscathed.” The itch of desire for a fight was beginning to boil his blood.

The second man barked a laugh. It would be a remarkably easy fight. “How ‘bout I let you walk away still breathing.”

Eva whined. He shifted his coffee to the hand that held his muffin and scratched her head.

“Look, just let the girl go.”

He had to drop Eva’s leash and his breakfast to block the punch that was aimed at his head. To his surprise, it connected. He brought his hand up to massage his jaw. It had been a good punch, he’d give him that much.

“You really didn’t want to do that,” Steve said. “I don’t want to hurt you, so I’m going to give you one last chance. Let her go.”

The man on the left gripped the woman’s arm to keep her from running as the other two converged on Steve. Apart from sparing with Bucky in the basement, Serbia was the last fight he’d been in, but Steve was by no means rusty. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt them. It wouldn’t be a fair fight, with Steve being enhanced as he was. All he wanted to do was get them to leave the woman alone. One of them managed to land a heavy kick to his ribs. Steve stumbled back. They took the opportunity to land another punch to his jaw. 

His mind snapped into a mode of pure concentration. Engage the hostiles, protect the civilian. His fist connected with one of the men’s jaws, snapping his head to the side and dropping him like a sack of flour. Steve dropped his gaze for less than a second to be sure he was still breathing. The other man bared his teeth in a snarl. Steve raised his fists again. He fell just like the first, but stayed conscious, struggling to stand.

“Just take your buddies and let her go,” Steve growled. “Or do you have the desire to taste the dirt as well? Because I could easily comply.”

Venom in his glare, the final man dropped the woman’s arms and shoved her towards Steve. He caught her as gently as he could and let her go. To his surprise, she didn’t automatically run away. The man that was still conscious stood up and spit into the dirt before picking up his unconscious partner. Steve glowered at them until they walked away.

When he was sure they were gone, he knelt in front of Eva and made sure she was okay before turning back to the woman. She bit her lip and hugged herself awkwardly.

"Thanks,” she said.

"Are you okay?”

“Fine.” She shook her head. “Sean and his followers have taken a fancy to me, is all. Think if they wear me down I’ll accept. If I ignore them for long enough, they leave me alone.”

“They won’t bother you anymore,” Steve promised. He had more than half a mind to figure out where they lived and make sure they would never approach her again. His desire for a fight hadn’t yet diminished.

For the first time, fear flitted across her features. “Please, you’ve done more than enough. I don’t want you getting hurt any more than you already have. They can be dangerous, and you’ve made them angry.”

Steve touched his tongue to the corner of his mouth, wincing when he tasted blood. “Believe me, this is nothing. I’ve faced far, far worse than what those asses could dream of.”

The fear only deepened. “Please, don’t do anything else. I’ll be fine. I promise.”

“Okay.” The taste of the lie soured his mouth, but he needed to make sure they wouldn’t bother her once he was no longer staying in the village. “Can I buy you a coffee or anything?”

“No. I’m sorry, I have to go. Thank you again.” She turned and hurried away without looking back. 

He found them later that afternoon and couldn’t help the smile that lifted his lips when he saw the group had multiplied into nine. It only grew when they converged on him at once. Though he’d gotten out for a reason, a part of him had missed the rush of adrenaline and the feeling of fists hitting exposed flesh. Whether he liked it or not, it was what he was created for. He almost relished the stinging pain of his split lip and the tenderness of the bruise blooming under his right eye. When he left, three of them were unconscious, four were nursing various injuries of various severity, and two eyed him warily. They would never speak to her again.

His phone started to ring as soon as Steve returned to the cottage. He winced when he saw it was a FaceTime call from Bucky. He knew better than to press ignore. Bucky had seen him look much worse, but that didn’t help the sinking feeling in his stomach when the smile immediately fell from his face. 

"What the hell did you do, Steve?”

“I’m fine, Buck, seriously. The other nine are worse.”

Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose and breathed out sharply. “Nine, Steve?” His voice was sharp. “I believe your paraphrased words were ‘I’ve moved on from recklessness’.”

“This wasn’t recklessness, Bucky,” Steve assured him. “I was helping out a woman in trouble. A group of asshats couldn’t take a hint.”

“And you couldn’t use your Captain America persuasiveness? You know how much people grovel when they know who you are.” He didn’t look amused.

“I’m not Captain America here, Bucky. It’s one of the reasons I love it so much.” It was one of the rare places he could just be Steve and figure out who the hell that was.

Bucky sighed and ran a hand through his hair; he knew how much anonymity meant. He shook his head and growled a breath. “You sure nothing’s serious?”

Steve knew he was still angry, but the worst of it was over. “I’m fine, I promise. Like I said, the others are worse. I needed to make sure they wouldn’t come back when I left.”

Bucky muttered to himself. Steve just made out the word ‘idiot’.

“What’s the reason for the call? Everything okay back there?”

“Everything’s fine. Starting to decorate for Christmas.” The camera moved to show lights strung up around the living room. When it shifted back to Bucky, he looked exhausted. “Look, I just-can-” he bit his lip. Steve waited patiently. “When you get home, can we talk? I have a few things I need to say and I think it would be better in person.”

A pit twisted itself into Steve’s stomach. He forced himself to nod. “Yeah, okay. We can talk.”

“When are you coming home?”

Steve wished he had an answer. “I don’t know. I really love it here. Finally feels like I can breathe.”

Bucky nodded. He didn’t look happy. Steve wished he could reach out and tuck the hair that fell into his face behind his ear. “Well, I’ll let you go. I know you had a lot of thinking and stuff you wanted to get done. 

“Wait, Bucky-” But he found himself starting at an empty screen.

Steve sat against the mountain ash by his grandparent’s graves. A fresh bouquet lay between them. Bark scratched his scalp when he put his head back. The look in Bucky’s eyes when he’d seen the beginnings of a black eye had imprinted itself on Steve’s eyelids. It was a mix of pity and anger. Steve had always hated that look; he’d never known which emotion was stronger, and he’d never known if the anger was directed towards him. He didn’t know which would make it easier to stand.

He winced when he shifted, trying to make himself more comfortable. His ribs would be sore for a while.

There was only one thing that would make Bucky happy, and that was him not fighting at all. But Steve didn’t know if that was an option. Fighting was the only thing in his life that had any stability; it was the only thing he could really be _sure_ about. It was his entire life. He didn’t know how to back down. Had never wanted to. Had never had a reason to. It meant he was alive. It meant he had purpose. Fighting was easier than trying to figure out who he wanted to be. It meant he didn’t need to think.

But he needed to think now. He needed to figure out what he wanted. He needed to figure out who he wanted to be: Steve; Captain Rogers; both? Both had never been an option before. Maybe that was the balance he was so sorely missing.

And his past would always be there. He had to stop pretending otherwise. If he could do that, maybe he could stop pretending in other ways too. He brought his head between his knees, hissing at the flare of pain in his ribs.

“What do you want, Steve?” he whispered to himself.

He hadn’t taken the time to ask himself in a long time. Other people had always told him. Or maybe that was just an excuse. Maybe he was just scared of the answer. After all, he’d had a good reason to be. He’d seen the men who were foolish enough to be open with their love. That was the one fight he hadn’t been able to join.

“But it never changed who you loved, Steve.” He put his head back. It was the answer to all his problems. Saying it was a whole other thing. He sighed. Deeply.

And then he sat up. “You’re Captain _fucking _America. You went into an enemy encampment alone in order to save one person. You can tell that person your feelings.” He’d opened the door that day at the aquarium. Now it was time to step through it.

When he got home, he was going to do it. He was going to tell Bucky he was in love with him. Consequences be damned. 

***

After hanging up on Steve, there was no way Bucky could stay in the house. Not when all he would think about was the black eye blooming on Steve’s face. Clipping on Aapeli’s leash, he closed the door and started to walk. He had no destination in mind. All he knew was that he had to keep moving. He didn’t know what he would do if he stopped. He didn’t want to know what he would do if he stopped. Moving was the only thing that kept his mind from wandering. 

When the snow started, he forced himself to slow. It was something he’d always loved as a kid. After a particularly heavy storm, everything was quiet and clean. It was one of the only times he’d been able to hear Brooklyn breathe. After enlistment, the snow became an enemy. It brought bitter colds and blinding flakes. After his fall, the snow became his existence. His handlers had learned quickly that heat brought back memories.

He’d been so carefree when he was young. Well, as carefree as one could be with a best friend like Steve Rogers. Easy to laugh with a starving smile. Curious about the world and the ways it worked. He wanted to be more like that again. 

When Bucky was a kid, staring up at the grey skies and swirling snow had always made it feel like he was flying. After falling for so long, maybe that’s what he needed. So he stopped, painfully aware of the wall of thoughts his movement had kept at bay, and tipped his head back. Fighting to keep his eyes open amidst the barrage of flakes, he took a deep breath and let himself fly.

It was some time later that, wet and covered in snow, Bucky entered the cathedral. The door echoed when it shut behind him. He flinched. Aapeli pressed against his leg. Head tilted back to take in the soaring ceilings, he walked down the center aisle and took a seat on the hard pew.

Bucky had never been particularly religious as a kid. He’d occasionally went with Sarah and Steve when he’d been invited, but other than that, he’d let the whole thing be. There hadn’t been any reason for him to believe during the war. But now, alive and healing, he wondered if there might be something. Even if there wasn’t, the profound silence of the empty church was nice. Aapeli sat between his knees. Hands on her shoulders, he closed his eyes and breathed.

"I never pictured you as the religious type.”

“Christ, Natasha! Give a guy a little warning.” He took a few deep breaths to calm himself, his heart still racing.

Natasha held up her hands as she slid in the pew beside him. “I figured the booming echo would be warning enough,” she said. “So what gives? What has you so in your head you didn’t hear me?”

Bucky slid over to give her more room. “I was thinking about you, actually.”

“Wow, Barnes, I’m flattered. But you know I’m really not looking to date right now.” A sly smirk lifted the right corner of her lips.

Bucky shoved her with his shoulder and heaved a breath, shaking his head. “Do you ever think about it?”

“What, if you and I started a relationship? Again, I’m flattered, but no.” Despite her joking façade, Bucky knew she knew what he was actually asking.

“Is it weird, being friends with me after our shared history and everything I’ve done?” There was no point in mincing words.

The smile dropped from her face, leaving the carefully controlled base Bucky was used to. “I try to make it a point not to think about that time in my life, Barnes. But no. It wasn’t you.”

“But-” he’d taught her how to do so many terrible things. Neither of them had a choice.

Natasha put her hand on his, a brief yet effective way to silence his mind. “The Red Room is in our pasts, Barnes. Best to leave it there.”

“I just want to say I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve any of that. None of you did.”

“Neither did you.”

She took her hand away and turned to face the alter. They sat in silence until more people began filtering down the aisles and filling the pews. An organist began playing somewhere behind them. Someone dressed in white robes carried a large pink candle up to the alter and put it in its place by two purples. She bowed her head and returned to the back of the church.

“I’m going to take this as my cue to leave,” Natasha told him, standing. “I don’t do the whole church thing.”

Bucky stood as well. “Come home with me. I’ll make dinner.” At Natasha’s eyebrow, he added, “the house is too quiet without Steve. This has nothing to do with romantic attraction or whatever else your twisted mind might think up.”

“Well then, dinner sounds wonderful. I enjoy Italian with a dry white wine.”

“Who said anything about alcohol?” Her eyebrow raised higher. Bucky sighed and nodded.

“If you want to change into something dry, feel free to raid Steve’s closet,” Bucky told Natasha as he grabbed a pot to fill with water. When they left the cathedral, the storm had grown thicker, making it a challenge for even him to see through. By the time they’d made it home, both of them had been soaked. Changing was the first thing he’d done.

Natasha nodded and disappeared into Steve’s room. She returned a few minutes later in a pair of sweats and an overlong flannel Bucky was surprised Steve hadn’t taken with him (it was one of his favorites), pile of wet clothes in hand.

“The laundry room is to your right,” he reminded her despite knowing she knew every inch of this house. He put the pot on the stove, salted the water, and set the flame. There was the faint sound of the dryer door opening and closing and the hum of it starting. Before he could get berated for luring her with false pretenses, he set to glasses on the counter and went to the fridge for the wine.

“I think you’re old enough to pour your own glass,” he told her when she sat on one of the barstools, not looking up from chopping garlic.

“If you insist.” She poured both glasses, leaving the bottle open to the side, and took a sip from the one closest to her.

Bucky set the garlic to the side and began to grate parmesan for the alfredo. He could just use the premade stuff, but that had started to feel like cheating. And besides, it didn’t take too long.

“Any word on when Steve’s coming home?”

Bucky’s grip tightened on the grater. “No. But I would assume he’d keep you more up to date on his adventures as you’re his ride home.”

Natasha narrowed her eyes. “You haven’t talked in two weeks?” 

“I talked to him this morning, actually.” He set another pan on the stove more forcefully than he intended and turned on the flame to let it heat up. “He’d just gotten out of a fight.”

“How many?” She didn’t sound surprised.

“Nine.” He added the penne to the boiling water and gave it a stir.

"He’s taken on more and come out fine.”

Bucky sighed and turned to her. “That’s not the point, Natasha. He made a choice after Serbia and that was this.” He spread his hands to indicate the house. “I thought I was done pulling him out of fights. I thought our relationship could move beyond that. Apparently I was wrong.” He turned back and drizzled olive oil into the pan. When it was hot, he added the garlic and let it sauté. He stirred the penne.

“I wouldn’t dwell on that, Barnes.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He stirred in butter and a lump of cream cheese until it was a thick gooey mess. 

"It means the two of you are idiots when it comes to what’s right in front of you.”

The milk and parmesan went in next. He whisked it until it was a nice thick consistency. After seasoning it with pepper, he took the pan off the heat and checked the penne. Natasha continued talking about men not being able to express their feelings.

"You know, it’s not as if I’ve been allowed to have what I want in any capacity for most of my life,” he finally said. 

“So you should be jumping at the opportunity. All you have to do is walk up to Steve and say, ‘I’ve been in love with you for my entire life, would it be okay if I kissed you?’”

“If it was that simple, don’t you think I would have already?” He poured the pasta into the colander, returned it to the pot and poured the alfredo over top. After a quick stir, he grabbed to bowls. “Bon appetite.”

Natasha uncurled herself and filled the bowl. “Thanks.”

Bucky nodded and filled his own. He continued standing, cupping the bowl in his left hand. Natasha returned to her seat. They ate in silence.

Natasha put down her fork. “I just think it’s stupid that you both obviously have feelings for each other and refuse point blank to acknowledge them.”

“Look, I’ve already made a commitment to myself that when Steve gets home I’m going to tell him. Now can you leave it?” He took a deep gulp of wine.

“I just want to see the two of you happy, you know that right?” Natasha asked a while later. The dishes were done and they were lounging on the couch. Alpine lay curled on her lap. “The two of you deserve peace and a happy retirement.”

Bucky just nodded and continued watching the storm. It was now impossible to see anything but snow. “Stay the night?’

“What?”

“The weather’s terrible. My company might not be the best, but it’s better than the storm.”

“Alright.” By the way she slid deeper into the couch, it was clear she never had any intention to leave.

It was late when they finally went to bed, Natasha sleeping on the couch and Bucky returning to his room. He stared out at the snow for a long time before closing his eyes. Even with Aapeli warm and comforting beside him, it took a long time for him to fall asleep.

_Everything was black. All he could hear was the static. He knew what happened next. They would push him back and bruise his wrist with metal chains. It would surround his head. The static would grow louder. Everything he’d remembered would be wiped away. For what seemed like eternity, his only existence would be pain. _

_Then the words. He hated them. He hated that he couldn’t fight back. He hated that he didn’t want to. This was all he was created for. He’d felt the darkness even before. _

_The static faded. Thousands of white-hot needles pricked his skin. His shoulder burned cold. He couldn’t feel his arm. He still couldn’t see. There was only the pain. It lasted until he believed it was the only thing he’d ever known. And then it lifted and he saw his savior. _

_He’d known him once. He would have said it was in a dream if he’d ever dreamt anything other than pain. Blond hair and blue eyes. A white coat. A scalpel in hand. _

_Steve smiled. The subject had finally lived. It was going to be beautiful when it was complete. _

_He looked to the side to see a line of chairs. He sat in all of them. A young, carefree boy with a missing front tooth who’d believed in flying; a strapping teenager in love with his best friend because how could he not be; a man who’d just gotten his orders and didn’t want to leave his reckless best friend, but also had a deep desire to do more than pull him out of alleyways; a man who had been captured and saved by his best friend who was everything and more than what he remembered. They were all dead. They’d had too many dreams to be allowed to live. The boy still had a smile on his lips, carefree and trusting even in death. _

_Steve leaned over him, a finger over his upturned lips. The scalpel raised. His throat was too raw to scream. Even if he had, the static of electricity overpowered everything else. _

_He woke drenched in sweat. Arms wrapped around him. Breath tickled his ear. _

_“You alright, Buck?” _

_Bucky nodded. Steve pressed a kiss to his shoulder and settled back into sleep, pulling him closer. His legs tangled with his. He didn’t want to sleep, but found he didn’t have a choice. _

_When he woke again, he was alone. It took him a while to place where he was. He spun slowly, taking in the mattress pressed against the wall, the ratty sleeping bag acting as a blanket. Something crashed behind him. He spun, his knife flying of its own accord. There was a gasping breath. Little Steve’s hands cupped around the handle, blood spreading across his shirt. _

_Handler Steve watched in approval. He’d known he’d finish the mission eventually. Even late was better than never. He’d be a perfect soldier now that there was nothing tying him to the past. _

_He collapsed to his knees beside Steve. Three bullet holes joined the knife. He pressed his palm to Steve’s bony chest to no avail. There was too much blood. His stomach heaved. Something pressed against his chest, constricting his breath. _

_"It’s okay,” Steve whispered. His eyes were glassy. Breath rattled wetly in his lungs. _

_An unseen hand shook his shoulder. Something wet touched his cheek repeatedly. _

_He was in the chair. All he could see was the blood on Steve’s face. He heard static. _

He woke sobbing. Aapeli licked his face. When he found he could move, he buried his face in her shoulder. He hadn’t had that dream in months. It had haunted him for weeks before changing. It was so much worse than he remembered. Natasha sat on the edge of his bed, her hand between his shoulder blades. Her usually passive face was tight with worry. The words in his mouth constricted his airway, but he didn’t know how to say them. Usually, it was easy to just stand in Steve’s doorway and watch him sleep.

“Is Steve alive?” he finally managed to choked out.

Natasha nodded. “Yes.”

He found he could breathe. Not easily, but enough.

“Do you need anything?”

He didn’t want to say Steve, so he didn’t say anything at all. He was pretty sure Natasha knew anyway. She got under the covers and stayed in the room talking until he found his breath came easy. When the sun rose, he lifted his head from Aapeli and drew his knees against his chest. He knew he looked like a mess.

“Are they always this bad?” she asked.

“Some of them are worse than others, but yeah.”

“I’m sorry.”

Bucky shrugged. “It’s what it is. I deal with them.”

“Before Steve left, you said his dreams were getting worse as well. Was that true, or were you talking about yourself?”

“It wasn’t a good week for either of us.”

There was a beep. Bucky flinched. Natasha took out her phone. She looked almost regretful when she looked up. “I have to run. Are you going to be okay? I can call Sam if you need.”

Bucky shook his head. “I’ll be fine. Go do what you have to do.”

She threw the covers off and left the room. Bucky met her by the door. “I’ll come over for Christmas Eve,” she promised, leaning against the wall to slip on her boots.

“I’ll make sure there’s wine.”

She flashed a grin, kissed his cheek and opened the door. A blast of cold, snowy wind greeted her.

“Hey, Nat?” She looked back. “Thanks.”

She nodded and then she was gone. Bucky closed the door, took a deep breath, and went to start the coffee.

***

Steve alternated between looking at his phone and the mountains. His bags sat beside him. Eva was off leash, investigating a suspicious hole ten yards in front of him. He was going to miss this village. His sketchbook was full of memories, but nothing would be able to capture the way the sun had eclipsed the rock.

> NATASHA: Five minutes out. Stay put for extraction :)

Steve had decided at noon that he was ready to go home. Two weeks was long enough. He’d done all the thinking he could do. It was time for action. More accurately, it was past time for action. He just hoped it wasn’t too late. Calling Eva to him, he clipped her leash and waited patiently.

The jet landed. Steve boarded, taking the seat next to Natasha. She gave him a nod. They were quiet until they were in the air.

“How’s everything back home?” he asked. He’d asked her to keep his homecoming a surprise.

“Incredibly cold and snowy,” was the response.

“Well, the cold’s okay as long as there’s snow to go with it, isn’t it?”

She gave him a look. “If you say so.” She switched on auto-pilot and pivoted her chair to face him. “So, you figure your shit out?”

“Most of it.”

“And?” By her eyebrow, Steve knew she was asking about Bucky.

“I’m surprised you haven’t asked about my injuries,” he said instead.

“Bucky informed me last night over dinner. You didn’t answer my question.”

“I’ve been an idiot, and I’m hoping to change that when I get home.”

She looked satisfied with the answer and turned to face forward again. “You going to miss it?”

Steve looked out the window, taking one last look at the country he’d fallen in love with. “More than you could know.”

They were in the car when Steve’s anxiety started again. His fingers drummed against his bouncing knee. He’d just remembered that Bucky had wanted to talk. Natasha reached over and put her hand on top of his.

“Relax, Steve. Everything’s going to be fine.”

This time, he allowed himself to believe it. He took a deep breath. Everything was finally going to be okay. One way or another, they would know and they would face the consequences that came.

They pulled into the driveway. Steve gathered his bags, thanked Natasha and walked into the house. He dropped his bags by the door and walked into the living room, only to find it empty. They were probably on a walk. But that was good. He could get settled and be on the couch when they got home. Just like normal.

Unpacked, he settled himself on the couch with his sketchbook. It would be impossible for him to focus on it, but it was the illusion that mattered. Steve set his pencil against a sketch of the mountains, ears strained for the door. He was almost dozing by the time it opened.

“Steve?”

He closed his sketchbook and walked around the couch. There were three feet between them. “Hi.” 

Steve couldn’t read the expression on Bucky’s face. “I didn’t know you were coming home.”

“I wanted it to be a surprise.”

And then before he could overthink, before he could talk himself out of it, before anything could be said that would scare him off, he closed the space between them and kissed him. There was no hesitation as Bucky kissed him back.

Steve broke away, resting his forehead against Bucky’s. “I love you,” he said. “I’ve been an idiot, and I’m sorry.”

The unreadable expression had turned into happiness. “I guess our talk doesn’t have to be that long after all. I love you, too.”

A deep blush warmed Steve's cheeks. He couldn't help the grin that broke across his face. Almost shyly, Steve kissed him again. 

They were idiots, but at least they were learning. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My big songspiration for this chapter was Older by Ben Platt.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm so soft. Please enjoy these fucking idiots who are so in love it physically hurts. 
> 
> Or, in which Steve and Bucky learn how to be themselves.

After they ate (leftover alfredo—Bucky couldn’t be bothered to cook), showered and got ready for bed, they spent the night on the couch (Steve’s head on Bucky’s shoulder, their fingers intertwined) just talking. Both of them had admitted to the long duration of their affections. Bucky had been enamored from their first meeting. He’d realized it was love a few years later. Steve had taken a little longer, but Bucky understood; he’d needed to make sure they weren’t friends out of pity.

“So all the times you said you just wanted to make sure I didn’t freeze you really just wanted to sleep with me?” Steve asked.

“Well, there was some truth in that one,” Bucky said. His cheeks hurt from his perpetual grin. He didn’t know he was allowed to be this happy. If he’d used the clicker every time he laughed, it would be broken. He’d all but given up hope that this would actually happen. If it was a dream, he never wanted to wake up. “You have to admit, it was smart.”

Steve just shook his head and rolled his eyes. There was a comfortable silence.

"Hey, Stevie?”

"Yeah?”

Bucky took a deep breath. Just like with any dream, he had to wake up eventually. “I have to admit something and you’re not going to like it.”

Steve lifted his head from Bucky’s shoulders and turned so he was facing him. He kept their fingers twined.

Bucky took another steadying breath. “I was angry and scared when you left, and I let my mind get away from my control. It convinced me that you left because you wanted to get away from me, and I knew there was only one way I could be sure.”

“What did you do?” Steve’s eyes narrowed slightly, creating a deep furrow between them. He didn’t look scared, just apprehensive.

“I looked at one of your sketchbooks.”

“Oh.” He looked down. With his black eye, the set up was violently similar to their talks after Bucky had pulled him out of fights. Only then, he’d been holding Steve’s hands to check for broken bones.

Bucky took his hands back, resting his head in them. “I’m sorry. I just, I was scared and I didn’t know what else to do. You’d just left, and I was too angry to text. I didn’t want to, I just…I’m sorry.”

This silence was charged. Steve stood and walked down the hallway. There was the sound of his door opening. Bucky’s stomach twisted and heat flooded his entire body. He’d just ruined everything. Things had finally been good and he’d ruined it. He knew how he would feel if Steve had admitted to going through his journals. But he’d needed to say it; it would have festered otherwise. Aapeli put her head on his knee and he rubbed her ears, miserable.

When Steve came back, he held one of the books he reserved for watercolors. It was one Bucky hadn’t touched. He sat back beside him, wincing slightly, a hand on his ribs. When he was settled, he pulled Bucky back against his chest.

“I always wanted to show you, but I didn’t know how you would react. That’s why I was always so secretive. But I’d like to show you my favorite, if that’s okay.” He bit his lower lip.

Bucky nodded. Steve opened to the page he had bookmarked with his finger. There was a picture reference in the corner. He was in the garden during full bloom, caught in the glow of a sunset. Steve had recreated it perfectly, from the golden red of the sky to the flowers Bucky loved so much. But it was the rendition of himself Bucky couldn’t take his eyes from. He looked so alive. There were no shadows to dim the light of happiness in his eyes. A crown of daisies was woven into his hair. Bucky could almost hear the laughter behind his wide smile. The only difference between the painting and the photo was the pattern of flowers extending from his left shoulder all the way down his arm. 

“I-” he was at a loss for words.

“That was the first day I almost told you how I felt,” Steve murmured.

Bucky trailed his fingers down the flowers that created his arm. “You made it beautiful.” He’d seen the flowers covering his scars in other sketches, but this was beyond anything he could’ve dreamed.

“I just recreated what was already in front of me. I almost showed you when it was finished so you could see how I see you, but you know,” he shrugged, “anxiety makes you do some stupid stuff.” Bucky looked up to see him biting his lip again. “Do you like it?”

“I love it.” It felt strange, saying he loved a painting of himself, but he did. It felt like him, like the person he was hoping to become again. Happy and carefree. But then again, Bucky didn’t know why he was surprised Steve saw it. They’d always been able to see what the other refused to.

The smile that lit Steve’s face was like the sun.

“Can I see more?” 

Steve nodded, took the book and flipped to another page. This time, Bucky was sleeping, a Bucky Bear tucked beneath his chin. He was smiling. In another one, he made dinner. In another, a tug-of-war battle with Aapeli. The last was another laugh, his hand (again covered in pastel flowers) pushing his hair back. It felt like he breathed in all of them.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

"For what?” Steve took back the book and set it on the end table.

Bucky shrugged, suddenly embarrassed. “For always believing the best in me when I couldn’t.”

Steve didn’t reply. He just wrapped his arms around Bucky and pressed a kiss to his head. Bucky leaned deeper into him and allowed himself to smile. He could’ve had this earlier, but he didn’t let himself dwell on that. The only thing that mattered was that he had it now. Steve yawned.

"You must be exhausted,” Bucky murmured. “I keep forgetting that you only got back tonight.” 

“I’m fine, Buck.” He yawned again.

“You’re not. And you know how hard it is to have a conversation when the other is drifting.”

“Who ever said anything about talking? And besides, going to bed requires moving. I’m finding myself quite comfortable.”

Bucky shifted his head to see that Steve was talking with his eyes closed. “I will remove myself from this couch.”

Steve’s arms tightened around him, locking him in place.

“Steven Grant Rogers, I’m not sleeping on this couch tonight.”

He groaned, but loosened his grip. “Fine, I’ll go to bed.” He didn’t move.

Bucky stood and held out his hand. Pouty and exhausted, Steve took it, rested his head on Bucky’s shoulder, and followed him down the hallway. When he made to go into his own room, Bucky pulled him back.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Bed.” His brow furrowed, pointing to his room. He was barely awake. 

“Right, bed.” Bucky indicated to his room with his head. Fairy lights provided the only light. 

A sleepy smile crept across Steve’s face. He crawled under the covers and Bucky followed, pressing tight against Steve and holding him close.

"Did you really think I was going to let you sleep alone?” he asked.

“Didn’t want to assume.” His words slurred, his breath deepening.

“You always were a sucker for propriety.” Bucky settled deeper, breathing in the sleepy scent of Steve. He smelled of soap and soft lavender (courtesy of their detergent).

"Buck?” His voice was little more than a breath but he shifted so he was on his back. It was clear he was struggling to stay awake. Bucky settled on an elbow.

“I’m right here, go to sleep.”

"I’m scared that I’m going to wake up to find that all of this was a dream.”

Still amazed that he could do this, Bucky leaned down and kissed him. It was long and slow and warm butterflies filled his stomach. He felt Steve’s lips curl into a lazy smile under his. “Believe me, I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered. He kissed him again, soft and sweet, just because he could. “Go to sleep.”

But Steve continued the struggled of keeping his eyes open. A memory returned of when they were kids. It wasn’t necessarily happy, but it was content; it was a memory of something that felt like home. Bucky sat up and patted his lap. For once, Steve followed orders without arguing and placed his head in it, taking Bucky’s free hand in both of his. Humming the lullaby Sarah had taught him that never failed to put Steve to sleep, he ran his fingers through his hair. He continued long after Steve had fallen asleep.

It had been a while since Bucky had the opportunity to watch him sleep up close. After his nightmares, he’d normally just stood in the doorway to make sure he was safe; he hadn’t had the courage to slip in behind him. But this…this was everything. There was no need to pretend. He gently stroked Steve’s cheek and watch the smile curl on his lips. In his sleep, he brought Bucky’s hand closer to his chest. Bucky brushed the hair from his forehead. God was he beautiful.

Lullaby finished, he gently lifted Steve from his lap and back onto his pillow. He turned off the lights and lay back. Steve immediately curled into him. Happier than he’d been in a long time, Bucky tightened his grip on Steve’s shoulders, closed his eyes and fell asleep faster than he thought possible.

He woke with his fist in his mouth, fighting back a sob, the imprint of Steve’s dead body still fresh in his mind’s eye and static in his ear. He could still feel the prick of the needles.

“You okay, Buck?” Steve’s breath tickled his ear.

A streak of panic coiled tightly in his stomach. He pressed crescents into his palm. It felt so real, but it had in his nightmare as well. Steve pressed a kiss to his shoulder. Bucky didn’t relax. He knew he was still dreaming. Steve would pull him closer and tangle their legs and go back to sleep.

“Come here.”

Steve opened his arms and Bucky cautiously rested his head on his chest, breathing in his scent of sleep and soap and lavender. He took a fistful of Steve’s shirt. Fingers carded through his hair and gently stroked his shoulder. He hummed a clumsy version of the same lullaby.

Bucky refused to close his eyes. That was always when Steve disappeared. He just settled to listening to the steady beating of his heart and the rise and fall of his breath. The humming continued, as did the light fingers in his hair. It became harder and harder to keep his eyes open. A jolt electrified him when he realized he’d let them close. Steve was still solid beneath him.

“Steve?” he whispered, just to be sure.

“I’m here.”

Bucky took a deep breath and let his eyes close. He’d nearly fallen asleep again when they flew open.

“Stevie?” he whispered again.

Warm, sleep-chapped lips pressed against his forehead. “Still here, Buck. I’ve got you.”

Finally content, Bucky closed his eyes and let himself fall back asleep.

***

On any other given day, Steve would have been up already. He hadn’t slept past six in months. But with Bucky in his arms, still deeply asleep, he didn’t dare move. Not that he wanted to. This was the most comfortable he’d been in ages. He didn’t have to pretend anymore. Bucky knew how he felt and he hadn’t run away. He’d kissed him back.

A deep blush warmed his entire body. All his years of dreaming hadn’t been able to prepare him for the lingering kiss before he’d allowed himself to fall asleep. He could still feel the soft pressure of his lips on his. It had felt so right. The kiss in the garden had been one thing, but one that was actually meant… And now, he was at liberty to do that whenever he wanted. Assuming that was what Bucky wanted too.

He watched Bucky sleep for a while longer. It always sounded weird when he said it in his head, but it was one of his favorite things to do. Bucky was always beautiful, but there was something about the way his eyelashes brushed his cheek in sleep. His features softened and became almost delicate. The weight of the world and what it had forced him to become vanished. Bucky’s nose wrinkled at something in his dream.

Exceptionally happy, Steve tightened his hold and rested his cheek against Bucky’s head. A few more hours of sleep wouldn’t hurt anyone. It wasn’t like they had any plans. He decided in that moment that if anything big enough to draw Captain America out of his happy and well-deserved retirement did occur, it would have to wait until normal business hours just like anything else.

He woke up again to the insistent nudging of his hand. It had somehow slipped from Bucky’s shoulder and hung off the side of the bed. Based on the weak light filtering in from the curtains, it was just after eight. Eva sat on the side of the bed, looking up at him expectantly. She breathed out heavily and wagged her tail, resting her chin in his hand. It was way past her breakfast time. Her big, sad eyes were almost enough to get him out of bed. Bucky’s head on his chest, however, convinced him otherwise. It was only the second time he’d woken up with Bucky still in bed with him. There was no way he was going to waste it. After scratching her ears, he signaled for her to lay down and she curled up obediently, still looking up at him.

A few minutes later, Bucky groaned and stretched out. He tightened his grip on Steve’s shirt and curled deeper into him, his cold toes pressing against his leg. His eyes fluttered open. A sleepy smile crept up on his face. Almost hesitantly, he tilted his head up. Steve didn’t think before kissing him, savoring his warm, sleep-chapped lips. He’d dreamed of that morning kiss since he’d realized he was in love with him.

“Good morning,” Bucky mumbled, voice thick with sleep. It immediately became one of Steve’s favorite sounds. 

“Good morning.”

"Is this really real?” He’d moved his head from Steve’s chest only to rest it in the crook of his neck. His lashes tickled.

“It’s real.” God he prayed it was. Steve hadn’t prayed for anything in a long time, but now he sent a desperate prayer to anything benevolent that might be out there. _Please, please let Bucky really be mine or never let this dream end._

“What time is it?”

“Late enough for Eva to be mad at me.”

“Well, now I feel guilty.” He felt Bucky’s smile curl into his neck.

“Don’t.”

His own stomach took that moment to growl loudly. He ignored it, not wanting to leave the warmth of Bucky’s bed, and instead placed his head on Bucky’s chest. Bucky’s stomach also decided to growl.

"Fucking metabolism,” Steve grumbled. “Doesn’t give a damn about happiness and being comfortable.”

“I’ll make some eggs,” Bucky said, pushing himself up. Steve was immediately cold without him pressed against him.

“I guess I’ll do my civil duty and feed the dogs.” Still grumbling about Super Soldier metabolism and not wanting to get up, he followed Bucky’s lead and got out of bed. Now fully shivering, he grabbed the _Nasa_ sweatshirt that was draped over the desk chair and threw it on. It was worn thin near the left shoulder, but it was warm. Most importantly, it smelled like Bucky.

“You hungry, baby girls?” He patted his right leg and both of them sprang up, tails wagging. With them following, he left the room and walked to the laundry room.

When they were both eating, he went to the kitchen to find Bucky cracking eggs. His hair was completely disheveled. With a rake of his fingers, Steve fixed it like it was the most normal thing in the world. Like they hadn’t only shared their feelings the night before. Bucky poured the eggs into the pan on the stove and added salt, pepper, and a dash of paprika. Alpine jumped on Steve’s shoulder when he sat on one of the barstools to watch him.

“Hey, Stevie?” He didn’t turn away from the stove.

“Hmm.”

“Can we get a tree today?”

“Does that mean we would decorate while listening to Christmas music?” Bucky nodded. “Then yes.”

An hour later, they were both dressed (Steve had kept Bucky’s sweatshirt on, but traded his worn joggers for his favorite pair of jeans; Bucky dressed in his favorite red Henley and black pants that did nothing to hide his ass) and in the car. Eva and Aapeli were in the back seat. According to Bucky, _Loft and Vine_ had a wide selection of trees available—not that he’d recently gone to look at their selection of winter perennials.

The garden store was surprisingly busy for a Tuesday morning. Bucky immediately made a beeline for the black and white cat lounging on the register. He hissed down at Aapeli, but immediately started to purr when Bucky tickled his chest.

"Mr. Hubbard!” Louisa greeted. “I wasn’t expecting to see you again so soon.”

Steve’s heart expanded as he watched a grin grow on Bucky’s face. “It’s hard to stay away from my second favorite place.” His gaze flickered to Steve for a second and Steve blushed. He was glad it was cold enough to pass off the red of his cheeks as the wind.

“It’s probably silly to ask seeing as you’re here every other week, but can I help you find anything?”

"Have any good Christmas trees you’ve been keeping hidden?”

Louisa smiled. “I might have just the one.” She scratched Orca between the ears and walked around the counter. Threading his fingers through Steve’s, Bucky pulled him forward. Steve followed only too willingly.

The tree Louisa showed them was a Fraser fir. It had almost a perfect shape, and there were no large gaps between the branches. And man did it smell heavenly. Steve didn’t know how it hadn’t been snatched up. 

“I may have pulled it aside as soon as I saw it,” Louisa said after making sure there were no other customers around. “I could only give the best to my favorite. And besides, Orca would never forgive me if you never came back.”

"You’re the best, Lou. Steve?”

“It’s literally the perfect tree,” he said, walking around it. There was usually one section that was bare or bent, but the branches were thick the entire circumference. “I don’t think I would forgive myself if I let this tree go.”

"We’ll take it.” Bucky handed Aapeli’s leash to Steve and bent down to grab the tree.

“Mr. Hubbard, we have a machine to do that!”

Bucky grunted as he picked it up and settled it over his shoulder. Both Steve and Louisa ducked to avoid being hit. “No worries,” he assured and started walking to towards the checkout counter.

Louisa looked at Steve. He shrugged and followed.

***

Natasha was waiting at their door with a large box when they returned home. Steve went to meet her while Bucky took the tree from the top of their car. He heard nothing of their conversation and only saw her smirk when they watched him take the tree inside.

When Steve walked in, Natasha wasn’t behind him. He placed the box on the couch and set the record player. Frank Sinatra and Bing Crosby serenaded them as they situated the tree in front of the tall windows. It was just shy of the ceiling, leaving just enough room for a star at the top.

“What’s in the box?” Bucky asked, taking a drink of water.

Steve shrugged. “Knowing Natasha, it could be anything.”

“You don’t have to open it, you know.”

Steve raised his eyebrows. “And face her disappointment at Christmas? I don’t think so.”

He sat on the floor, pulling the box on his lap. Bucky joined him, throwing his arm around Steve’s shoulders. He loved the way Steve leaned into him. There was a large note in sharpie that read _Steve: Christmas :)._ After a breath that clearly meant _well, here goes nothing_, Steve opened it. A sharp inhale of disbelief followed.

“Natasha,” he whispered. He reached in and pulled out a length of blue fabric. Two large misshaped socks followed.

“Are those?” Bucky asked.

Steve nodded, bottom lip between his teeth. “Our stockings.”

Bucky reached over and took his from Steve’s lap. He’d almost forgotten about the large socks they’d created by sewing together (quite badly) two spare scraps of fabric. Filled with creative inspiration, they’d used the rest of the thread to sew their names on top. All in all, Bucky thought his turned out quite well. When Sarah came home, she’d found them embellishing. Bucky had created a rather misshapen snowman. Steve had attempted to make a reindeer, wanting to show off his art skills even then. She’d helped them finish. If she was mad they used up all her thread, she didn’t show it.

“What else is there?” Bucky asked, pulling away from memories.

Steve showed him the pile of decorations he’d slaved away at making. Snowflakes made from old newspapers. A reindeer made from a painted handprint. Bits of fluff somehow stuck together to create a snowman. Steve reached the bottom of the box and a pained cry ripped from his throat. Fingers going to his lips, he pulled out a frame.

For a second, Bucky was eight again, his arm around Steve’s shoulders. He was missing a front tooth. Steve miraculously didn’t have any bruises. They grinned at each other like there was nothing else in the world. Sarah stood behind them, looking fondly at them both. Her boys. Even though only one of them truly belonged to her, they all belonged to each other. Steve’s breath shuddered as he touched the glass protecting the photo. Bing Crosby continued to serenade them.

“That was a good day,” Bucky murmured. And it had been.

“I don’t even want to know what Natasha did to get this,” Steve said, his voice thick.

“Seduction, probably.” Something Bucky most definitely did _not_ teach her.

“I said I _didn’t_ want to know.”

He set the box aside, gently piled the fragile decorations beside it and stood, keeping only the frame and piece of blue fabric in hand. The frame went on the mantel above their fireplace. Bucky watched, intrigued, as Steve lay on his stomach and wriggled under the tree. He smoothed the tree skirt around the base. As soon as he saw the jolly snowmen, Bucky remembered. How could he forget? Sarah had let him sew one of their pipes. Bucky watched as Steve worked to extract himself from under the tree, his sweatshirt riding up. On his knees, he took a moment to pull it back down.

“Do something useful and untangle some lights, will you?” Steve asked, pulling Bucky’s attention back to his face.

“Hmm?”

A box was thrown at his face. The lights were new. There was no untangling to be done. By the smirk and mischievous glint in Steve’s eye, Bucky knew Steve knew. He was just being a little shit. Bucky stared at him the entire time he unraveled the string, fighting hard to keep his face straight. Of course, in his haste and inattention, he managed to find a way to tangle them.

“Shut up,” he muttered when Steve started to cackle. Steve just laughed harder.

When he managed to fix the mess he’d created, he threw the end at Steve and they worked together to drape the lights over the thick branches. The tree glowed a soft white when they finished.

Satisfied with his work, Bucky sat back against the couch, reaching up to scratch Aapeli behind the ears. Steve sat beside him and started looking through his pile of decorations. The room dimmed as clouds obscured the sun.

“How many of these do you think are still fit to hang on a tree?” he asked, holding up the reindeer hand.

Bucky reached over to hold it steady. “Honestly, they look good considering it’s been so long.”

“God, I never expected to see these again.”

He looked at them fondly, most likely caught up in the same wave of memories that Bucky had surfed. The clouds dispersed. Bucky was caught in how the sunlight framed his face and turned his hair to gold. It took his breath away. He didn’t understand how he’d gotten this lucky.

“Buck?” Steve had turned to catch him staring again.

“You’re beautiful, Stevie.” The words he’d longed to say for his entire life finally left his mouth. A deep blush warmed Steve’s cheeks. He ducked his head, not quite managing to hide the soft smile that had him biting his bottom lip. It was the most adorable thing Bucky had ever seen. He took Steve’s hand and brought it to his lips. The fact that he could do that still astounded him. Steve rested his head on Bucky’s shoulder. And for a while they just sat in the warmth of the sun, Christmas tree gleaming and music playing, awash in the glow of happiness.

The rest of the day passed in much the same fashion. The Christmas music continued playing, the house continued to be thoroughly decorated, the smiles and laughter continued flowing. At one point, Bucky leaned down to pick something up off the floor and heard a thud. He looked back towards the kitchen to see Steve gingerly push himself away from the wall and walk away like he hadn’t just run into it. He needed to take a closer look at the crown moldings, he’d later said. Bucky needed to take a break he laughed so hard.

“You want to know my favorite part about your laugh?” Steve asked when they’d both recovered. He was now adjusting the piece of garland on the mantel, placing the candles and photos around it just so. Their stockings hung below.

“Hmm?”

“It’s one thing that’s never changed over the years. I can close my eyes and it could be the ‘30s, or it could be now. It’s…” he chuckled softly.

“It’s what?”

Steve turned and smiled. “It’s the sound of home.” A little later he added: “The way your nose scrunches doesn’t hurt either.”

-

It snowed again Friday afternoon, the big, wet, fluffy flakes that accumulate quickly. Snowmen building snow. Of course, it had only taken one look from Steve to have them out in it. Eva and Aapeli dashed around wrestling, unperturbed by the boots protecting their feet. Steve kneeled and started to roll a snowball. It didn’t take long for it to be big enough for the base.

“What do you think?” Steve asked, staring at it. There was a mischievous glint in his eye. “Do you think we can make it bigger than me again?”

Bucky took a step back to size him up. “Challenge accepted.”

Steve continued rolling the base. “Think that’s good?”

Bucky cocked his head, looking back and forth between the gigantic snowball and Steve’s butt. “Yeah, I think that satisfactorily represents that ass.”

Steve blushed bright red. Bucky smirked and started on the torso. He was very much enjoying the new dynamic of their relationship.

“It’s just really too bad we can’t sculpt out your chest and arms,” he said, placing the ball he’d constructed on top of the base. He cracked a grin. “But then again, no one would be able to mistake that ass for anyone else’s.”

“Watch it, Barnes.” He hadn’t been demoted to the use of his surname in years. Bucky was quite proud of himself. 

“Or what?”

“You’ll be sleeping alone.”

“Pity, I had plans for tonight.” They involved snuggling while watching movies or finishing his book, but it was fun to watch Steve blush even deeper as his mind filled in the gaps. Whatever Steve thought of was of no fault but his own. He wondered if Sarah would be appalled and smirked.

“But,” he continued on, “I guess that just means more sleep for me. Won’t need to listen to those obnoxious snores. You could seriously wake up an entire-”

A snowball to the face prevented him from finishing. Steve had his hands behind his back and was whistling by the time he’d wiped the snow from his eyes. He leaned down to form his own ball, making it just smaller than it needed to be, and placed it on the half-finished snowman. 

“Now that’s just plain rude,” Steve said.

Bucky shrugged. “It’s all your stupid.” This time, he ducked before the snowball could hit its mark.

A snowball fight any kid would be proud to be a part of ensued. Both of them constructed shelters and had a stockpile of weapons on hand. Bucky’s cheek stung where Steve’s last shot had connected. It had made them even. Bucky might be a master assassin, but Steve had finally figured out how to aim.

Bucky chanced a glance over the top of his hastily piled together shelter. Snow whizzed past his ear and he pulled back quickly. It had gotten to the point of sudden death; the next connection won the battle. Aapeli romped over to him, tongue lolling. With all the snow in her coat, she looked entirely white.

“Should I go for it?” he whispered. She shook herself, scattering snow everywhere and returning to a semblance of dark red. Bucky nodded. “Got it.”

He took a deep breath, ducked out from his shelter and charged, dodging the snowballs that Steve pelted at him. Steve was reaching for another when Bucky barreled into him, knocking him to the ground. They landed in a tangle of legs, Bucky on top of Steve’s chest. The air clouded as the impact drove Steve’s breath from him. His cheeks were bright red from the cold and he sniffed to prevent his nose from running. Snow dusted his lashes.

“I win,” Bucky whispered before leaning down and kissing him. Steve wrapped his arms around his back and slipped a hand into his hair, deepening the kiss, anything he might have wanted to say lost. Warmth blossomed in Bucky’s chest at the ease of everything. This just felt right. It was right. Steve’s lips curled into a smile under his. A cold tongue wet his cheek. Bucky turned his head to see Eva standing beside them, her tail wagging and her tongue lolling.

“You want to get in on this too, baby girl?” he asked. She licked his face again. Steve rumbled a laugh from beneath him and Eva turned her attention to him. He had to take his arms from Bucky to cover his face. Happiness gleamed in his eyes.

Bucky rolled off him and sat up. Steve pushed himself up and Eva went to go investigate the corner of the garden where Aapeli was.

“You know,” Bucky said, looking at the snowman that was miraculously unharmed from the battle, “I think it looks just like you.”

Steve punched his arm, causing him to fall sideways. “You’re a jerk.”

Bucky could only laugh. “Punk.”

Dinner that night was a quiet affair. Too tired to make any real effort in cooking, they’d ordered in and enjoyed a meal of Cambodian. The snow continued to fall and the temperature dipped. Showered and ready for bed, they snuggled on the couch, Steve’s head on Bucky’s chest. He watched the snow, a soft smile lifting his lips. Alpine curled on his free shoulder, making it so Bucky couldn’t move even if he wanted to. Absentmindedly, Bucky ran his fingers through Steve's hair, only stopping when he needed to turn the page. He was so close to finishing _Breaking Dawn._ Tomorrow, Sam would wake up with a series of messages that would not make him happy.

Steve breathed out softly, and Bucky shifted his gaze from the final chapters. To be honest, he couldn’t care less about how the book ended. With his messy hair and lips slightly parted, Steve looked exactly like a little boy again. Bucky brushed a curl from his forehead, but he was too deeply asleep to move.

These past few days were everything he’d ever dreamed of. Stability, a house, a dog, someone he loved. He never thought he’d get here, where he was comfortable enough, okay enough, for this to be normal. They were both healing. They both deserved this happiness. It was with a soft jolt that he realized he actually believed that.

“I deserve this happiness,” he whispered to himself. And for once, there were no snide voices telling him otherwise.

It was late by the time he finished the book. He gently shook Steve’s shoulder and stroked his cheek. Steve just mumbled incoherently and buried himself deeper into Bucky’s chest, tightening his hold on his shirt. Chuckling to himself, he somehow managed to shift into a position where he could pick him up. Steve immediately pressed his face into Bucky’s neck.

It took a minute to get Steve unattached enough to tuck him into bed. A Bucky Bear wasn’t enough to erase the pouty frown that appeared on Steve’s lips when Bucky pulled away, leaving room only long enough to turn off all the lights and ensure the doors were locked. Bucky rolled his eyes and kissed his temple fondly before wrapping his arms back around him. Steve sighed happily. Warmth expanded through his entire body. Bucky couldn’t fight his smile. There was nothing else to it. He loved the man sleeping next to him. And boy, did he have it bad. 

***

Bucky was still sleeping when Steve woke early the next morning. He was surprised to find himself in bed, as the last thing he really remembered was dozing on the couch, Bucky’s heart strong beneath his ear. There were bits and pieces: the feeling of fingers in his hair, a light tickle on his cheek, strong arms beneath him. Bucky had carried him to bed.

Bucky snored quietly against his spine, his exhale tickling his neck. Steve rolled his eyes. And he thought Steve snored. (To put the record straight, they both did.) But he should just be happy that they were finally sleeping. Only half a year ago, he never thought he’d get another decent night’s rest. Now, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d went to the couch in the middle of the night. Before Thanksgiving, maybe. And as much as he wanted to give all the credit to the man sleeping behind him, Steve knew he had to give some of it to himself.

It was at times like these, when nothing big was taking up space in his brain, that he could see how far he’d come in these past few months. He still had a long way to go to get to where he wanted, but he was getting there. He was miles beyond even where he’d been a week ago when he’d been sitting at his grandparent’s graves. Right now if anyone asked, he’d be able to tell them exactly who he was without a fight. He was happy.

He was himself.

And if anyone asked who that was, he’d be able to tell them because he liked the answer. Steve Rogers (who was different than Captain America) was an artist who wanted to go back to school. He lived a happy, quiet life with the man he loved more than anything else. He had a service dog because he had PTSD and anxiety, but it was nothing to be ashamed of and he was getting help. He didn’t need a fight to define him.

Most importantly, he could make some damn good pancakes. And that was exactly what he was going to do.

Slipping from Bucky’s arms, he grabbed the sweatshirt that was once again on Bucky’s desk chair and left the room. Eva and Aapeli followed him. He fed them and let them outside. When they were happily dozing on the couch again, he put on a random playlist, started the coffee, pulled out a bowl and began making batter. It was the first time he’d made something in the kitchen without supervision. The jazzy bass of Stevie Wonder’s _I Just Called to Say I Love You _serenaded him as he worked.

He was whisking everything together when arms slipped behind his back. Lips brushed his cheek. Steve turned so he faced Bucky and kissed him. He would never get tired of being able to do that. Bucky hummed in pleasure.

“What are you doing in my kitchen?” he asked, pulling back just slightly.

“What does it look like?” Steve kept half of his attention on the music behind him, not wanting to miss the chorus. This was actually a song he knew well. 

“Like you’re making a mess.” Bucky’s hair was a complete disaster. Steve was coming to understand it as his ‘just rolled out of bed’ look. He found he quite enjoyed the groggy before coffee version of Bucky. Adorable was the only word he could use to describe it.

“And here I was thinking I was being sweet, making you breakfast.” He groped blindly for the whisk.

“Is that what you think you’re doing?” Bucky pulled away and poured himself a cup of coffee. He closed his eyes as he savored his first sip.

Steve gripped the whisk tightly in his fist. His heart pounded. “Hey, Buck? There’s three words that I must say to you.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes. Steve brought the whisk up to his mouth to act as a microphone.

“_I just called to say I love you_,” he sang, very off key, but somehow still recognizable as Stevie Wonder.

“That’s more than three words, Steve.”

“_I just called to say how much I care_. _I just called to say I love you and I mean it from the bottom of my heart._”

Bucky rolled his eyes, but couldn’t hide the massive grin spreading on his face. Steve continued singing. Bucky’s lips covered his to silence him.

He was at the griddle flipping pancakes when Queen hit the speakers. Praising whatever deity controlled the music, he brought the spatula to his mouth, jumped around and pointed at Bucky, who immediately dropped his head into his hands.

“_I was born to love you with every single beat of my heart._”

He strummed an invisible guitar, keeping an eye on the pancakes behind him. There was no way he was letting them burn. When the griddle was empty, he walked up to the counter, leaned over and kissed Bucky’s cheek.

_“So take a chance with me, let me romance with you, I’m caught in a dream and my dream’s come true.” _He turned Bucky’s head so he could press a kiss to his lips. “_I wanna love you, I love every little thing about you. I wanna love you, love you, love you.” _

He returned to the griddle, dancing to the guitar break as he poured more batter and flipped the pancakes with an expert flick of his wrist.

“Were you always this much of a dork?” Bucky asked. Steve looked over his shoulder to see Bucky’s smile. “Or should I be worried?”

“Maybe,” was all Steve said. It was an acceptable answer for both.

He put a stack of pancakes on a plate and slid it in front of Bucky, joining him a few minutes later. The music continued as they ate, but Steve’s mouth was too full to sing along.

They were doing the dishes when _You’re My Best Friend_ came on. Steve turned to Bucky, a smile wider than he thought possible on his lips.

“You’re lucky you can make good pancakes,” Bucky said. “Your entertainment skills are terrible.”

Steve drew a whisk out of the soapy water. When he got soap in his eye, Bucky did nothing but laugh.

-

“Steve?”

They were walking in Prospect Park. The sky was a deep blue and the temperature hovered in the low 30s, a nice reprise from the moody greys and freezing cold that they’d grown used to the past few days. It was a rare moment when they were the only ones in sight. Steve turned to show he was listening, but kept one eye on Eva and Aapeli who were off their leads, sniffing at the base of a tree.

“What are we, exactly?” A pensive, nervous expression lined Bucky’s face.

Steve took his hand, fingers intertwining clumsily in their gloves. The uncertainty on Bucky’s face faded slightly and he continued.

“I mean, are we dating? Are you my boyfriend?” Steve tried not to make a face at the word. Bucky didn’t miss it. “What?”

“I don’t know.” And he really didn’t. Maybe it was that after everything they’d been through together, everything they’d needed to overcome in order to reach this, boyfriend seemed too casual, like it didn’t fully encapsulate everything they were. He thought for a moment, knowing Bucky was waiting. Finally, he settled on something.

“You’re my best guy,” he said. “We have to be past dating at this point. I mean, we’ve lived together since the 30s.”

“Well…” and Bucky smiled again. Just a sliver of a smirk.

Steve bumped his shoulder into Bucky’s. Another person started walking the path towards them and he called Eva over. She trotted over, tail wagging and tongue out. He ruffled her ears and clipped her leash back on.

"You’re the only person I’ve really dreamed of having a life with.”

“What about Peggy?”

Steve bit his bottom lip. This was the tricky territory he was still trying to figure out. “I did love her,” he said. “I was happy when I was with her, and maybe we even would’ve been content, but,” he blew out a long breath and met Bucky’s gaze, taking comfort in the steel blue he’d come to associate with home.

“A lot of our relationship, at least for me, was an attempt to forget the way I felt about you. I was terrified that someone would find out, so I went with what was easy. But I did love her.”

“If I hadn’t fallen from the train, would you have asked her?”

He didn’t need to finish the sentence for Steve to know what he was talking about. Marriage.

“Probably.”

Bucky nodded. Steve couldn’t decipher the expression that clouded his eyes. The words pressed themselves against his lips. Before he could stop them, they placed themselves in the air.

“Bucky, I’m bisexual.”

He bit the inside of his cheek and ducked his head before he could see Bucky’s expression. He didn’t know why saying this scared him more than admitting his feelings. By all accounts, it didn’t make sense, particularly now that they were together. But it did. The longer Bucky was silent, the tighter the ball of anxiety in his stomach became. The only thing that prevented him from picking at his fingers were his gloves.

Soft fingers brushed his cheek and tilted his chin up. There was nothing but gentleness in Bucky’s expression. “So am I.”

Bucky wrapped him in a hug and Steve breathed out, the ball loosening only slightly. He dropped Eva’s leash, knowing she would stay at his side and held him tightly, pressing his face into Bucky’s neck. A hand pressed against his head. Eva leaned against his leg. 

“Thank you for trusting me,” Bucky murmured. 

Steve nodded into Bucky’s neck. His anxiety still pooled in his stomach. Despite everything being okay, better than okay even, he felt tears press hot against the corner of his eyes. He’d held onto that his entire life, since before he knew there was a word that described him, let alone that it was nothing to be ashamed of.

He was learning, slowly, how to let go of everything he’d been told he’d needed to be. He was learning, slowly, what he wanted. He was learning, slowly, how to be himself.

Bucky pulled himself away and lifted Steve’s head, wiping away the tears that streaked cold down his cheek, and pressed the softest kiss to Steve’s lips. The gentleness of the action made Steve melt. His shoulders relaxed, releasing the tension he didn’t even realize he was holding.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“Anything for my best guy.” Bucky pressed another soft kiss to his forehead and fully pulled away. Aapeli now sat at their side and he clipped her leash.

They were walking again, hand in hand, in quiet conversation, when they were approached by a young woman with a camera around her neck. She wore a hopeful, if not apprehensive, expression. Steve groaned inwardly. He’d known it was only a matter of time before someone realized the two men frequenting the park were Captain America and the Winter Soldier. He’d just hoped it would take longer; he’d wanted time with their relationship before it hit the headlines.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but I was hoping you’d be able to help me with a school project?”

"What are you doing?" Bucky asked. 

She held up the camera. “It’s for my photojournalism capstone. I’m wanting to do a showcase of the everyday people of New York. Everyone takes pictures of the celebrities and forgets about everyone else, which I think is a shame because they miss the best part. How can you claim to encapsulate the city when you only show the one percent?”

She bit the corner of her lip. 

And maybe it was because she didn’t approach him as anyone other than a person, Steve found himself nodding. “Yeah, sure. Why not?” He normally hated cameras, but that was because they focused on Captain America. She wanted Steve Rogers. He could finally give that. “You okay with this, Buck?”

Steve saw him hesitate, saw his breath hitch, and then he nodded. “Why not.”

A smile unfolded on her face. “I’m Katie,” she said, thrusting out her hand.

He thought about giving a fake name, but quickly decided against it. He was done hiding. This was him. “Steve.”

“James.” Steve couldn’t blame him for not giving his preferred name.

“It’s a pleasure. Really. Thank you so much for agreeing to this. Um. Okay.”

She bit her lip and looked around, most likely judging the light. Bucky tugged down his left sleeve. They let her situate them to her liking, bringing the camera up to her face every so often. Bucky stood stiffly at his side. Steve rubbed his thumb over his knuckles. He relaxed only slightly. 

“Yeah, that’s good. That’s really good.” She took a few pictures before lowering the camera. “Okay, now this is going to sound funny, but I find it helps when people are camera shy. I want you two to act like you’re friends. Just be yourself, try to forget that I’m here.”

A startled expression broke across Bucky's face and he threw an arm around Steve’s shoulder. “Friends with this old fart?” he asked. “Nah. Can’t stand him.”

“I’m an old fart now, am I? Wow. And here I thought we were closer. I only went to war for you, pal.”

“And you saw where that got us. But then again, you’ve always had all the stupid.”

“Well, if I’m friends with you, I must have all the stupid. There’s no way anyone with an ounce of a brain would spend time with you, you beefy geriatric.”

Bucky feigned offense and punched his arm. In retaliation, Steve jumped on his back. Bucky barked a laugh and Steve pressed a kiss to his cheek, loving that he could feel the smile grow. He made sure to grin at the camera before jumping down and leaning into his chest. The shutter of the camera had faded into background noise. Even if he was still aware of it, he wouldn’t have let it stop him from kissing him. The look Bucky had when he pulled away, so soft and filled with happiness, had him laughing softly, but he knew he looked the same. To think that he could’ve had this so much sooner. He rested his forehead against Bucky’s. The shutter clicked to a stop.

“You’re right, that’s better,” Katie said, grinning.

“You get something you can work with?” Steve asked.

“I’m sure I can find something. But would it be possible to get a few with your dogs?”

This time it was Bucky that agreed first. Steve looked down at Eva’s vest, at the large letters that designated her as a PTSD service animal. And then he nodded. This was him. It was nothing to be ashamed of. They knelt with Eva and Aapeli between them, making sure their vests were in clear view. Eva licked his cheek. Steve laughed and Bucky joined in, his head thrown back. A few more clicks of the shutter and they were done.

“Thank you so much,” Katie said, shaking their hands again. “Really, this helped so much. I just hope everyone else is as easy to work with as you.”

“If…if you wanted to,” Steve bit the words back and then thought again. He wasn’t hiding anymore. If it got out, it got out. The government could go screw itself. “If you wanted to, you can use all of them. It could be your entire project, if it worked with your vision."

She narrowed her eyes and cocked her head in confusion. Steve elaborated. 

"It would be showing two people forced to be someone else their entire life finally able to be free, to be themselves without a mask.”

He flickered his gaze to Bucky, who’s expression matched Katie's, and prayed he was making the right decision. There was no going back after this. He'd be able to retract his consent for her to use the photos, but he didn't want to. He didn't want fear and uncertainty ruling his life any longer.

“I’m Steve Rogers.”

“What does-OH!” Her eyes widened as she made the connection and Steve knew he'd made the right choice. Until he'd said it, she really hadn't known. She turned to Bucky. “But that would make you Bucky Barnes!” Bucky nodded and she waved her hands excitedly. “You’re my little brother’s favorite hero!”

“He thinks I’m a hero?” The words were a startled whisper.

Katie tucked her braids behind her ears and nodded. “He thinks he’s going to have super strength like you because of his arm. He’s six,” she added as a means of explanation. She took out her phone from her back pocket and pulled up a picture of a young boy with messy brown hair, a missing front tooth, and a prosthetic arm. “Every Halloween he dresses up as you.”

“What’s his name?” Steve smiled at the awed-look on Bucky's face. He looked thoroughly startled but exceptionally happy to be thought of as a hero. 

“Nicholas.”

“Well you tell him that he’s my hero, okay?”

She nodded fiercely and then looked back to Steve. “Would you really be okay with me using all these pictures? A lot of people are going to see them.”

Bucky shrugged and relief washed through Steve. He took Steve’s hand and answered before Steve had a chance to. “Why not? This...this is us.”

Her eyes widened again. “That’s the working title of my project.” Her eyes grew even wider and Steve recognized the dawning of a new idea. “Okay, so please, please, please forgive me if this is too forward, but I just had a wave of creative inspiration that I need to say or else I’ll go crazy.”

Steve huffed a laugh. “I know what that’s like.” He nodded for her to go on.

“Everyone only sees you as the war hero, someone who saves the world every so often. They see the suit and the shield, they see the arm. They don’t see you. I mean, I knew you looked familiar, but I wasn’t able to place why until you said your name because the media has only ever shown Captain America.

"Now this is where the too forward portion comes in, so please, please, stop me if you want to.” She took a deep breath. “The pictures I just took are a good start, and I could work entirely off of them if I had to, but what I would really love to capture is a slice of your everyday life. I want to show that you’re just the same as any of us, and I mean in the best possible way. Yeah, you may be superheroes, but you’re human.”

“What would you need for that?” Steve asked. 

She breathed out again, a nervous hitch in it. “An afternoon of access to your life? I want to show who you are without the mask. I understand completely if you don’t want to let a stranger with a camera into your life, but that’s the full, incredibly crazy idea that I’m presenting to two men that I met a half hour ago.”

“Will we be able to have copies of the photos when you’re done?”

She nodded vigorously, her braids bouncing. “Yes. And you’re invited to the showing as well. And, if it makes you feel better, I’ll show you the layout of my project before I’m done. If there's anything you don’t want public, you let me know.”

“A slice of life, huh?” Steve looked to Bucky. There was a nearly imperceptible nod. A _why not. _“Well, then we better do it right.” He looked down to Eva, who’d started to lean against him in the lull of action. “You ready to go home, baby girl?” She immediately perked up.

“Wait, you’re serious?” Katie asked.

"If you want a full picture of Steve, you need to see his sweater collection,” Bucky said, shooting Steve a grin. “It’s massive.”

Steve just shrugged. What could he say? They were comfortable and they kept him warm.

***

They spent another couple of hours taking pictures: Bucky in the kitchen, cooking; Steve drawing on the couch; Bucky reading. It was comfortable. It was happy. More than anything, it was _them_. As _them_ as they’d been in a while. By the time Katie turned off her camera, Bucky’s cheeks hurt from the wide smile he’d worn all day. They’d done their best to keep each other in bouts of laughter, meaning there had rarely been silence. It felt so much like old times that at some occasions Bucky had expected Sarah to enter the room to make sure he was alright. She’d always chastised him when he’d made him laugh so hard Steve couldn’t breathe.

It felt good to let go, to let loose and just have fun and not care what anyone else thought. He'd been able to do that before the war. 

“Again, thank you so much,” Katie said, leaning against the wall to keep her balance while putting on her shoes. “This is turning into something that I couldn’t have ever imagined and I couldn’t be more excited.”

Bucky took his hand from Steve’s to grab his own shoes. “Let me drive you home,” he said. “It’s getting dark and you shouldn’t be walking alone.”

“Really, it’s fine,” she insisted, slipping on her coat. “It’s nice out.”

“And what if I said I wanted to give your little brother a surprise?”

“Seriously?” Bucky nodded. “Then I’d say thank you very much and it’s getting dark and I probably shouldn’t be walking alone.”

“Want me along?” Steve asked.

Bucky shook his head. “I think we’ll be fine. I’ll pick up some dinner on the way home.”

“Make it Mediterranean?”

“Got it.” Bucky leaned into Steve, pressed a chaste kiss to his lips, and grabbed the keys from the hook by the door.

“You didn’t offer to drive me home just to talk to my little brother, did you?” Katie asked after situating her camera bag on her lap.

“No, but I am looking forward to that.” He flickered a glance to her when they hit a red light. She was watching him carefully. “I wanted to talk to you away from Steve.”

She suddenly looked nervous. “You were okay with today, right? I know you agreed, but I didn’t overstep, did I?”

“No, no, you’re good. I actually wanted to thank you.” It felt strange opening up like this to a near stranger, but he felt like he needed to in order to fully explain what today had meant. The light turned green. “How much do you know about our falling out with Tony Stark?”

“Just that something happened. There was never any conclusive answer given to the media.”

Bucky nodded. “Ever since then, since he really stopped being Captain America, Steve has been trying to figure out who he is. He’s really started to come into himself the past few weeks, but today?” He thought of the lightness to Steve’s presence and breathed a laugh, shaking his head. “I haven’t seen Steve like that in a long time.”

“I don’t see how that has to do with me.”

“You didn’t see him as Captain America. You saw him as Steve. That meant a lot to him. And me.”

She was quiet for a minute. “You really care about him, don’t you?”

“I do.”

“I can keep the more intimate pictures to myself. You don’t need to expose your relationship if you don’t want to.”

He glanced at her quickly before returning his attention back to the road. “I’ve spent the last 70 years being told what my life was. Tell our story.”

"I'll do my best."

Bucky pulled up to the side of the street, put the car in park, and followed her up to the front of the building. Katie fumbled with her keys before opening the door. It was a short walk down the hall.

“I’m home, Mom,” she called. “I brought a friend to meet Nicholas; he’s modeling for my capstone.”

A frazzled-looking woman came from around the corner, wiping her hands on a flour covered apron. “Hello, dear,” she said, with a glance towards Bucky. She had kind brown eyes. Bucky nodded a hello.

“Nicholas in his room?” Katie asked, depositing her camera bag on the ragged couch. The woman nodded. “I’ll be right back. Please, make yourself comfortable.”

Bucky remained standing and unconsciously tugged down his left sleeve.

“You a friend of Katie’s from school?”

“We actually just met today,” Bucky replied, putting his hands behind his back. A twinge of anxiety settled itself over him. “I was walking in the park when your daughter approached me and asked if I would help with her capstone.”

“You’re very kind to agree. She’s been having a hard time getting people to say yes, which is a pity. She’s rather talented.”

She tilted her head towards a wall of photos and he went to look at them, grateful for the moment to compose himself. They were a series of portraits, all black and white. Like Steve’s art, the subject almost appeared to breathe. He and Steve were in good hands.

The sound of footsteps had him turning around. The young boy from Katie’s picture was pressed shyly against her legs. He held a Bucky Bear tight against his chest, his left arm hidden behind his back. He wore Captain America pajama bottoms.

Bucky’s anxiety melted away and he knelt in front of him. “You must be Nicholas.”

Nicholas looked up to Katie, who nodded in encouragement. He nodded shyly.

“I heard from a confidential source that Bucky Barnes is your favorite hero. Is that him there?” he asked, pointing at the bear in his hand.

There was another shy nod.

“I prefer Captain America myself, but you know, I think Bucky Barnes is pretty cool, too. I actually know him pretty well.”

“Really?” The voice was quiet, but filled with uncertain eagerness.

“Well, I sure hope so, seein’ as he’s me.” Bucky shrugged off his leather jacket, revealing his arm in all its full glory. Nicholas’ eyes widened.

“Just like me!” he held out his own arm, revealing the silver prosthesis, his apparent shyness gone.

Bucky held open his palm, allowing for Nicholas to put his small hand in his. It was the first time Bucky had ever felt a surge of affection for his arm. How could it be entirely bad when it brought forth a reaction like that?

“You know only the smartest, bravest people can have an arm like this. Not everyone can handle the super strength that comes with it.”

“I knew it,” Nicholas whispered. Bucky flashed a glance up to Katie to see her grinning. “How long do I have to wait?”

“That depends on you,” Bucky said. “On how kind you are, how brave you are.” The things he’d been known for before. He glanced back to his mother, who’s right hand was pressed against her lips. “How well you listen to your ma and sister. It’s all based on your character. That’ll be your real super power.”

“What if people laugh at me?”

Bucky rocked back on his heels and huffed a laugh. “Then you just remember our good pal Steve. Before he became Captain America, he was real small like you. He got picked on, but he didn’t let that stop him from bein’ a good person. And I’ll tell you a secret, it was that trait, his penchant for goodness, that makes him as amazing a super hero he is now.”

“Really?”

“Really. So you be kind and good, and you’ll be nice and strong. On top of that, I promise you’ll have the best super power of all.”

“What’s that?”

“I like to call it the Bucky Power: you get to be best friends with Captain America.”

“Really?”

Bucky nodded. “Every Bucky Barnes needs a Steve Rogers. I’ll tell you what, if I get word that you’ve been granted your super strength, he and I will come take you trick or treating next Halloween, given it’s okay with your ma.”

He looked up at his sister, a grin stretching across his face. “I get to be friends with Captain America!”

Bucky chuckled.

“Can Mr. Bucky stay and play?”

Bucky waited for his mother to give permission before nodding. “I think I stay for a while longer.”

Nicholas immediately scurried off and returned with another stuffed bear, this one wearing a Captain America outfit. He handed it to Bucky and flopped to the floor. Bucky moved to lay on his stomach. An epic rescue mission ensued. Bucky Bear had to save Captain America multiple times.

“I should get going,” Bucky said when the mission was successfully completed. He tried not to groan when he pushed himself to his feet. Nicholas began to pout and Bucky crouched back to his level. “I’ll tell you another secret. Captain America gets really pouty when he’s hungry, so I have to go get some food.”

Katie put a hand on Nicholas’ shoulder. “What do you say to Mr. Bucky?”

Nicholas rushed forward and wrapped his arms around Bucky’s waist. Bucky chuckled and hugged him back. “Thank you for coming to play with me Mr. Bucky. I’m gonna be the bestest, most kindest I can be,” he promised. “I’m gonna be the strongest person in the whole world.”

Bucky smiled. “I bet you will. I’ll be seeing you on Halloween.” He stood and shrugged his jacket back on.

Katie walked him to the door of the building. “Thank you. I’m pretty sure you just made his entire life and made our life a whole lot easier.”

Bucky chuckled. “He’s a good kid. I wish I could’ve had my hero tell me those things when I first got my arm.” He rubbed his shoulder absentmindedly. “Well, thanks again for today.”

“I’ll keep you up to date on the project.”

“I’m looking forward to seeing it.”

Katie closed the door and Bucky got in the car. He was still smiling when he got home, food in hand, feeling more like himself in a long time. Happy and carefree.

The first thing he did when he entered the house was set the food on the kitchen counter and make a beeline for the couch where Steve lay reading. Steve closed his book and set it aside, allowing for Bucky to rest his head on his chest. Lips pressed against his forehead and fingers carded through his hair. Bucky sighed happily. The day had been good, but he was beyond exhausted.

“How was it?”

“Bucky Bear made some dramatic rescues, multiple people know you get pouty when you’re hungry-”

“I do not!”

“-we’re taking him trick or treating next Halloween, and I will forever only answer to Mr. Bucky.”

“I thought Beefy Geriatric was a more suitable name, what with those thighs.”

“Only if you want to be Pouty Old Fart every time we’re in public.”

“Duly noted.” There was a moment of silence. “Dinner?”

Bucky hummed. “That sounds nice.” He didn’t move. Neither did Steve. It took them another twenty minutes to get off the couch.

Bucky rifled through their record collection. Steve was in the bathroom brushing his teeth, giving Bucky the space he needed to set the living room. Despite being exhausted, the idea he’d had in the morning had taken root. And Steve had no excuse anymore. He was a right shame. Finding the record he wanted—a collection of 1940s slow jazz—he placed it on the turntable and lowered the needle. He hummed along to Ella Fitzgerald and Louie Armstrong as they crooned _Cheek to Cheek_ and turned off the lamps so the Christmas tree and the fairy lights strung around the ceiling provided the only lights. 

“What’s this?”

Bucky caught Steve’s hand and pulled him close. His arm slipped around his waist. “Tonight I’m finally going to teach you how to dance.”

“Is that so?”

Bucky started guiding him into a slow two-step. “Even if it takes all night.”

“You know I’m really no good at this.” There was a note of embarrassment in Steve’s voice.

“Oh, hush dear,” Bucky said. “You’re doing fine.” He tried not to wince when Steve stepped on his toes.

“Sorry.”

“Relax, Stevie,” he murmured against his ear. “Just feel the music. Feel me. There’s nothing to overthink. Just relax.”

It took a while, but Steve eventually eased into the movements. By the time Dinah Washington serenaded them with _Teach Me Tonight_, there was a look of contentment on his face. It shifted to a look of surprise when Bucky spun him, but he laughed with he landed perfectly back in position.

“See? You’re a natural.”

A mischievous grin snaked across his face. There was pressure on his feet when Steve stepped on top of them and let Bucky do all the work, same as the last times Bucky had tried this.

“You know, you’re a lot heavier now than you were the last time I tried teaching you,” Bucky said.

Steve pouted, but stepped off. Bucky took the opportunity to pull him closer, now content just to sway back and forth. He rested his head in the crook of Steve’s neck.

“Buck?”

“Hmm?” He shifted his head in order to look up. There was such tenderness in Steve’s expression.

“I love you.”

A tendril of warmth uncurled itself in Bucky’s stomach and radiated through his entire body. He found he couldn’t look away from the fathomless blue of Steve’s eyes. How he ever thought he’d be able to keep his feelings silent when they were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen was a mystery. Steve bent his head to brush a kiss against his forehead.

“I love you too, Stevie.”

And the last thought Bucky had before Steve cupped the back of his head and drew his lips to his was that maybe ‘Stevie’ and ‘I love you’ had always meant the same thing. 


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are steps taken both forward and back, for such is the nature on the path of healing.
> 
> The album that I had on repeat for this chapter was Unplugged, by Cloud Cult

“You look happy, Steve.” Dr. Scheinbaum set her mug on the coffee table and leaned back in her chair. Her pen hung idly from her fingers.

“I am.” An easy smile had become his default expression. He felt…light. That was the only way he could describe it. For the first time, he wasn’t battling exhaustion on top of coming to terms with his past. He hadn’t had a nightmare since Ireland. A full night of sleep was becoming normal.

“Bucky and I are together now.” She was the first one he’d said that to, and it came with a rush of excitement. They hadn’t yet told Sam and Natasha; if they hadn’t already figured it out, they would at dinner. “I told him the night I came home and he said he felt the same. And I told him I’m bisexual.” This he said with pride. “He didn’t care.”

“I’m happy for you, Steve. You deserve this. You’re good for each other.”

“You can say it, you know. The ‘I told you so’.”

I would never.” But she was smiling. “I’m proud of you, Steve.”

"Thank you. I…I’m proud of myself, too.”

It only took a second of contentment to realize he fully believed that. He _was_ proud of himself.

They say in comfortable silence for a few minutes. It was the most secure Steve had ever felt in the small, cozy office. He wasn’t afraid of the question he knew she was going to ask.

“Ireland was good to you?”

Steve scratched Eva’s ears to avoid answering at first. He thought of the fight, of the bruised ribs and blackened eye, of Bucky’s palpable disappointment when he’d seen him; he thought of his moment in the graveyard where he’d been so close to calling her but didn’t, where he’d sat with the sinking thought that maybe he would never be anything other than a fight; he thought of the nights he’d stared at the ceiling unable to sleep, filled with the intense desire to not be alone. And then he thought of the sunrises, running with Eva in the mist-covered hills; of getting to hold entire conversations in is childhood language, of not needing to be anyone but himself, of feeling fully alive; he thought of the night he’d talked until Bucky had fallen asleep and he’d stared until his phone warned him it was nearly out of power, of how he’d wanted so desperately to be back home so he could pick him up and carry him to bed. He thought of how he’d felt so at home while at the same time feeling so incredibly displaced. He thought about the rush of intense joy when he’d seen Bucky again and knew, absolutely certain for once in his life, exactly what he wanted.

“It was…what I needed.”

She nodded. “I have to admit that I was surprised it took you this long to call. I expected you to make an appointment as soon as you got home.”

“I meant to,” Steve said. “If Bucky…if things didn’t work out, I would’ve called you that night. But things went better than expected and I'm good. I’ve felt the most me I’ve felt in maybe ever. I had, not necessarily a revelation, but a, a,” he struggled with his words. “A realization? An understanding? A moment of clarity, I suppose, that it was my desire to fight that kept me locked in this mindset that I’m nothing without it. And it’s not even that I really wanted to fight, it was more that I felt I needed to because it’s the only thing I’ve ever done. But I realized one morning waking up next to Bucky that it wasn’t true; it was what other people wanted me to think. It was their way of keeping me in my place. I want to occupy a different space now.”

“Is this your way of saying goodbye to Captain America?” she asked.

Steve shook his head. “I don’t think I can ever really say goodbye to him. It’s only because of him that I’ve gotten anything in my life. I’m just focusing more on Steve Rogers right now because I finally have a sense of who that is.”

“And how do you feel when you say that?”

Steve frowned slightly. “There is a little sense of guilt, I guess. But I know I have no reason to feel that way. I’ve given everything to the world. I’m allowed to give to myself.”

Dr. Scheinbaum smiled. “I hope you know how far you’ve come since the first time I saw you.”

“I do,” Steve said truthfully. “Thank you. And I know you can’t say anything, but I want to thank you for helping Bucky as well. It really means a lot. We’re finally good.”

She just nodded and took another sip of coffee. Steve looked down at Eva, who’d rested her chin on his knee and stared adoringly up at him. They were finally good.

Unsurprisingly, Bucky was in the kitchen when Steve got home. He hung his keys near the door, took off his shoes and coat, and walked into the kitchen. Bucky hummed happily when Steve slipped his arms around his waist and rested his chin on his shoulder, placing a kiss on his cheek. When the potato he’d been dicing was in the large bowl next to the cutting board, he turned to face him. Steve immediately kissed him, loving the feel of Bucky’s lips curling into a smile beneath his.

“How was it today?” Bucky asked, arms still around him.

“I talked about how happy you make me. She officially knows that we’re together.”

Bucky groaned and rested his forehead against Steve’s shoulder. “She’s probably rejoicing. She’s had to listen to our dumb ass’s pine for long enough.”

“Now she gets to hear me praise you over and over.”

“Yeah, but she can’t tell me about it.”

“No, you just get it straight from the horse’s mouth.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and pushed away from Steve. “Smart ass.”

Steve darted forward to press another kiss to Bucky’s lips. Bucky rolled his eyes again, but couldn’t hide his smile, his cheeks faintly flushed. He pulled another potato onto the cutting board and set to dicing it. When finished, he grabbed an onion and did the same. Steve leaned against the counter, content to watch him work.

“You can help you know,” Bucky told him, setting the cutting board aside. “You don’t just need to stand there.

His response of “I’m admiring the view” and a blatant glance at Bucky’s butt earned him a smack. “What do you want me to do?”

“Grab the sour cream from the fridge, dump it in the potatoes along with the cream cheese and cream of chicken soup, and give it a good mix.”

As he followed instructions, Bucky buttered a large ceramic dish, into which Steve then scooped the mess in. After topping the potatoes with crushed corn flakes, Bucky put the dish in the fridge.

“Now what?” Steve asked.

“Well, the ham’s already cooking. The beans won’t take too long, so those can be tossed in the microwave a few minutes before we eat. Natasha’s bringing rolls and dessert, and Sam’s bringing salad.” Bucky listed off on his fingers. “I’ll throw the potatoes an hour or so before we eat. I think we’re set.”

“When are they coming over?” For some reason, they never elected to give Steve that information.

“Four.”

Steve looked at the clock. It was just after two. “Want to go for a walk?”

“I have too much happening in the kitchen to leave.”

“Right.” He instead moved to the sink to start the dishes. Bucky grabbed the dishtowel, ready to dry. They were quiet for a time.

“What would you say if I told you I wanted to go to church tonight?” Steve finally asked. He’d been thinking about it a lot recently. Not because he believed, but because he wanted something that felt normal. Christmas mass with his ma had been normal until she’d died.

Bucky looked at him. “I’d say okay.”

“Really?” For some reason, he’d been expected Bucky to give a violent no. They’d never really talked about faith before; Bucky had never expressed any interest. After everything he’d been through, Steve figured he’d put any belief he might have in a higher power aside. Steve had. He wouldn’t say he’d been particularly religious before, but he had believed in something. And maybe he still did; he didn’t know anymore.

“Yes.” He looked down at the pan he was drying and bit his lip in embarrassment. “I almost went when you were in Ireland. I just needed the quiet, so I sat in the cathedral. It was nice. Nat found me before the service started.”

Steve didn’t say anything in response, but he didn’t think it was anything to be embarrassed about. They’d learned to do what they needed to in order to cope. Who was he to judge?

"You know one thing I don’t miss about our time?” he asked, wiping down the skillet they’d used for breakfast. “The pans. Doing the dishes sucked.”

“Steve, you never did the dishes.”

“I occasionally did them, thank you very much. And let me tell you—nonstick pans? They’re a blessing from a higher power.”

Bucky just snorted.

When the kitchen was clean, they moved to the couch. Steve settled himself with his head on Bucky’s chest, unable to contain his happiness when Bucky immediately began to run his fingers through his hair.

“I want to go back to school,” he said, trying to keep the shyness from his voice. It was another thing he’d been thinking a lot about. He ran his fingers over the metal plates of Bucky’s palm. “I mean, I got in, right? Might as well give it a chance. And like you’ve said, I’m always happier when I’m working on something.”

“When would you start?”

“I called admissions the other day. I could start this spring if I wanted; I have until Monday to decide. Otherwise, I’d start in the fall.”

“And what’s preventing your decision?” He could feel the words in Bucky’s chest.

Steve continued to run his fingers over his palm, now idly drawing a flower. “If I started this spring, I’d be the exception. I don’t know if I want that.”

Bucky played with the hair at the nape of his neck. “What would you do if you didn’t start this spring?”

Steve shrugged the best he could and stared outside. It was snowing softly; the kind of flakes that clumped together as they fell so when they finally landed they were ten times the size they were when they first formed. “I’d find something to do. I can’t just sit around anymore.”

He felt Bucky nod. “I’ve been looking at some garages hiring for mechanics.” He said it as if he were embarrassed. “I think that’s what I would’ve wanted to do if, well…” his left hand twitched. Steve tightened his hold. “You know.”

“So us old farts are getting into the world. Natasha would be so proud.” Bucky snorted and Steve chuckled. “But seriously, I’m happy you’re looking too.”

“I want to fix things for a change.” The words were said with such a tone of self-loathing that Steve sat up and turned to face him. Bucky dropped his head. Steve cupped his chin and drew his face upward. Bucky continued to avert his gaze.

“Bucky,” Steve said. “Look at me.” It took a while, but Bucky eventually looked up. “You fix things every day. You might not see it, but you do.”

Bucky just shrugged and let his gaze drop. Steve brushed his thumbs over his cheeks and kissed his forehead. When Bucky didn’t look back up, Steve grabbed his book (_Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can’t Stop Talking_; Bruce had recommended it years ago and he’d finally picked it up), and opened to the chapter he’d left off on. There was nothing selfish in the way he leaned against Bucky and took his left hand in his own. He was there now just for the company, to be an anchor to hold him fast against the thoughts he knew would be inundating his mind. Eva jumped onto the couch beside him and rested her head in his lap.

“Do what makes you happy, Steve,” Bucky said quietly, pulling him from the chapter. “Don’t be the exception if it doesn’t feel right, but don’t let it stop you from doing something that would make you happy if you have your heart set on it.”

Steve didn’t reply. Just nodded and continued staring at the page. He wasn’t reading anymore, just thinking, but he was glad for the pretense.

“There’s an animal shelter down the road looking for volunteers,” he said a few minutes later. It wasn’t like he wouldn’t create if he didn’t go to school. Really, all he wanted was a way to fill his afternoons. He did want to go back, but maybe not yet.

“We don’t have space for anymore animals in this house,” Bucky told him.

“Then do we need to tell Sam that he can’t come over for dinner?”

This time, Bucky barked a laugh.

“Are you ready for them to know about us?” Steve asked.

“Don’t they already?”

Steve breathed a laugh and nodded. That they did. Bucky turned slightly so Steve could lean more comfortably against him, sighing in contentment when his arms closed around his waist.

When there was a knock on the door some time later, Steve grumbled and pushed himself up. They’d slumped further down the couch until they were almost flat, and Steve had just been about to fall asleep. Based on Natasha’s smirk, he must’ve still looked a bit out of it when he opened the door. He self-consciously patted down his hair and readjusted Bucky’s sweatshirt.

“You look happy,” she said. “It’s a good look on you.”

He ducked his head and stood aside to let her in. She headed straight into the kitchen, where he heard her greet Bucky. Sam arrived only seconds later.

“You two weren’t just necking, were you?”

“If you’re not going to be nice, you don’t get to come in,” Bucky yelled from the kitchen.

“Then why are you allowed in?” Sam called back as he took off his shoes. Steve closed the door.

“Because I fucking live here,” Bucky answered as they joined them in the kitchen.

“That’s the only reason, riiiight.” He drew out the word and flickered his gaze to Steve, who’d just picked up the variety section of yesterday’s newspaper to read an article about a new show he was thinking about watching. Bucky reached over, plucked the paper from Steve’s hands, rolled it up, and smacked the side of Sam’s head. He returned the paper to Steve with a “thanks, dear.”

Sam just stood there, stunned. Natasha cackled. Bucky put the potatoes in the oven. Steve opened the paper and started reading.

When he recovered, Sam continued. “But seriously, dating the homeowner must have its perks.”

“I _will_ throw you out of this house.”

“Oh come on, it’s Christmas!”

“I haven’t celebrated a Christmas in seventy years. I don’t hold a lot of sentimentality anymore.”

Steve frowned to himself behind the paper. They’d had traditions as kids; Steve had waited anxiously every Christmas Eve for the Barnes’ to arrive after he and his ma returned from mass. Christmas dinner hadn’t been much, but it had been family and laughter. If it was warm enough after (and even if it wasn’t and Steve really shouldn’t have been outside), the two of them would go on the fire escape and pretend they could see the stars. Even if it had been bitterly cold, with Bucky beside him, he’d felt warm. He’d hoped they could do the same tonight, but if Bucky didn’t care anymore…

Bucky caught his eye and winked as Sam continued to splutter. The ball that had tightened Steve’s stomach loosened.

***

“You promised me wine, Bucky,” Natasha said as she grabbed four wine glasses and brought them to the table.

“And I will provide wine,” he promised. He set the ham on the large cutting board and started to carve. “Just be patient.”

“So how long have you and Steve?” She didn’t need to finish her question for it to be effective. He looked over to the living room where Steve and Sam were laughing. He caught Steve’s gaze and his grin grew wider. God, he was beautiful.

"Since he came home from Ireland. It just kind of happened.”

Natasha leaned against the counter. “It’s about damn time you two stopped making eyes and finally acted.”

“We were being courteous.”

"The courteous thing would have been to push you two together. God, you could cut the sexual tension between you with the bluntest spoon.”

“Thank you, Natasha,” Bucky said dryly. “I’m so glad you’ve had active conversations about my love life.”

She dumped the green beans into a dish and stuck them in the microwave. “Don’t forget your sex life.”

He gripped the knife tighter. “Oh yes, who could forget my sex life? You know I’m not opposed to throwing you out of the house, Natasha. I don’t share the same fear of you that Steve has.”

“Relax, Bucky,” she said in a slow drawl. “It only comes up every once in a while. Hill and I had an ongoing bet on how long it would take you two and who would finally make the first move. Who did, by the way?”

“Have you discussed my love life with everyone?”

“If it makes you feel any better, I don’t think Clint had his hearing aids in when I was complaining about how stupid the two of you are, but then again, he rarely does.”

“Lovely.” He made the next cut much harsher than it needed to be.

It was stupid for him to ever believe that their relationship would just be there for a period of time. Sure, they had given Katie permission to share it through photos, but it would be a while before she finished her project. And Bucky knew that Natasha loved them both and that there was nothing malicious about her comments, but at the same time, he hadn’t had anything that was solely his for over seventy years. The one thing that might’ve been just between him and Steve had never been. He didn’t care that she had known, of course she would’ve picked up on it, she was at their house often enough. It was the fact that she had made it into a game. He’d just been another pawn in another game.

“We talk because we care about your happiness. It was never a game,” Natasha said quietly. She’d always had the uncanny ability to get into his head.

“I know. Ignore me, I’m just being stupid.” He finished carving, placed the meat in a serving dish, and set it aside. As Natasha took the beans out of the microwave, Bucky took the potatoes out of the oven. He gave the salad one last toss, and made sure the wine, butter, salt, and pepper were on the table.

“I think we’re ready to eat.” He said it loud enough for Steve and Sam to hear. They carried their conversation into the kitchen, and each grabbed a dish to take to the table. Bucky and Natasha followed.

Steve took his spot next to Bucky. “Everything looks and smells amazing, Buck,” he whispered, kissing his cheek. Bucky flashed him a small smile and Steve hooked an ankle around his.

“I spent a long time preparing that salad,” Sam said, breaking the moment. “You better appreciate it.”

“I’ll think about eating it,” Bucky replied, taking the serving spoon for the potatoes from Steve. He filled his plate with everything but. It did look delicious, but he would never say it out loud. Sam’s ego was inflated enough as it was.

Natasha poured herself a glass of wine and tilted her chair back so it rested on two legs. “Was I overhearing your conversation correctly, Sam? You were discussing costume choices for your upcoming role as a particular sparkly vampire?”

“I suggested a full sequin suit with bellbottoms. You know, to really accentuate the whole sparkly vampire thing,” Steve said.

Natasha snorted into her wine.

“Oh god, please,” Bucky pleaded. “If you do nothing else for me my entire life, please do this one thing.”

“Who says I didn’t already buy the outfit? Oh my god, these are really good,” he said thickly through a mouthful of potatoes.

“You need to know I’m not dressing up for my role in this,” Natasha said while dishing her plate. “I will play my part, but I will not be going out of my way for costuming.”

“Anything you wear will be too fashionable for Bella anyway.” Bucky took a sip of wine. Steve’s elbow brushed against his arm as he reached for his own glass.

The entire dinner passed in much the same way. It was quieter than most of their gatherings, but still filled with teasing and laughter. At one point, Steve was required to walk away from the table because he’ d laughed so hard he spilled wine all over his pants. Sam had been quite pleased with himself.

In a moment of good nature, Sam and Natasha offered to do the dishes. When Bucky tried to shoo them away from the kitchen, saying they were the guests and therefore shouldn’t clean his house, they insisted, saying that since he cooked the meal, he shouldn’t clean. Steve tried to press himself in the kitchen, but they too pushed him out, leaving them with no choice but to go to the living room.

They were talking quietly, Steve leaning comfortably against Bucky’s chest, Eva and Aapeli on the floor beneath them, when Sam and Natasha entered. They said nothing, only smiled and took the floor and recliner. Bucky appreciated the quiet acceptance of it. This was always how it should’ve been, so it was treated as such.

After Sam handed out Santa hats and demanding they all wear them, Bucky was the first to be handed a present. Natasha, who said her present to the both of them had been artifacts from their past, stretched out on the recliner and watched them intently. Alpine walked along the back of the couch and settled herself on Bucky’s shoulder. He scratched her head and turned the present over.

He didn’t know why he was suddenly nervous. It wasn’t as if it was the first time Sam had given him something, but it was the first time when he’d consider them real friends. His right pointed finger hooked under the wrapping paper and tore. It was a cookbook.

“Not that I don’t think you’re proficient,” Sam said when he turned the book over to display the text _Eating Around the World._ “Just in case you wanted something outside the box and you couldn’t think of anything. There’s also a spot in the back to write down your own recipes.”

He flipped through the pages, enjoying all the photographs. “Thank you, Sam.”

Sam nodded and tossed Steve a box. It was wrapped in the same paper; red with dancing Santa’s. Bucky focused on his face as he examined the box. Steve had always loved Christmas. As children, he’d woken Bucky up at the ass crack of dawn because he was so excited; it hadn’t mattered they’d only gone to bed a few hours before. As they grew older, his excitement had become muted. When he’d asked about it, Steve had just shrugged, saying he’d always been ridiculed.

Now, his face was perfectly controlled. But Bucky knew better. He knew the reason he was having difficulty ripping the paper was because his hands were shaking in unbridled joy. He knew his crow’s feet were deeper than they normally were. He knew the curve of his lips as he tried not to smile. 

“Really, Sam?” He dumped out a bunch of DVDs onto his lap. “I understand I need to catch up, but really?”

“Hey, don’t knock ‘em ‘till you’ve seen them. _Singing in the Rain _is a classic, and I figured what better way to begin with musicals? You like me, and Gene Kelly?” He blew a chef’s kiss.

Steve looked to Bucky, who merely shrugged. Sam shook his head and muttered something unintelligible to himself. He grabbed the smallest box from under the tree and threw it at Natasha. She caught it with practiced ease. A set of keys soon dangled from her fingers.

“I rented out a room in a dance studio for your private use,” Sam explained. “The lease is for a year.”

Natasha looked down at her lap for a second, folding the keys into her palm. When she looked up, the fleeting vulnerability that came from revisiting a childhood memory had disappeared. “Thank you, Sam,” she murmured. Sam nodded, smiling to himself.

“Open yours now, Sam,” Bucky instructed.

The three of them had gone to great lengths to make his present feasible. Bucky just hoped he took to it well. The last thing they needed on Christmas was for Sam to break down. Steve set his movies aside and curled catlike into Bucky’s chest. Bucky rested his chin on top of his head.

Sam pulled out the last box. Natasha had picked out the wrapping paper; it was covered in pictures of something she called an ‘elf on the shelf’. Bucky hadn’t been about to ask. Sam looked at all three of them before ripping away the paper to reveal a shoebox. He lifted the lid.

“Fuck off, no you didn’t! This isn’t…oh my god.” He lifted the dog tags from the box and let them dangle from his fingers.

It had been Bucky’s idea to try and find anything that had belonged to Riley. With help from Black Widow and Captain America, they’d been able to recover his dog tags and the small part of his wingsuit that hadn’t been completely damaged by the RPG. The government had been too pleased to give them away, but Natasha had found a way to persuade them.

Sam’s eyes were unnaturally bright when he managed to look back up. “Thank you.” His voice was thick. “But I shouldn’t have these. His mother-”

“We talked to her,” Steve told him. “She agreed you should have them. And Sam, she doesn’t blame you.”

Sam gripped the tags tight in his fist. “Thank you.”

They allowed him time to compose himself. He slipped the tags around his neck and took a series of deep breaths. Bucky had always wondered what had happened to his tags after he’d fallen. If Steve had had them, maybe he would’ve been able to make peace with the fact that he’d been gone. Maybe he wouldn’t’ve felt the need to crash the plane. But then they wouldn’t be here. Steve wouldn’t be staring up at him with soft eyes full of adoration and love, and the smallest smile. He wouldn’t be happy. Feeling Natasha’s eyes on him, he kissed Steve’s hair and held him just a little tighter. She said nothing.

Setting aside his own box, Sam pulled out the last present and handed it to her. This one had been Steve’s idea. She opened the envelope with an arched brow. When she took out the sheets of paper, she stopped breathing.

“Steve, what is this?” she asked, even though Bucky knew she knew exactly what it was.

“We kind of adopted you?” Steve said, biting his bottom lip. “I mean, not officially, but…you’ve always been family, so we wanted to make it as official as we could. So, yeah.”

It was the closest to crying Bucky had ever seen her. She blinked hard and quickly. “I don’t know what to say.”

“We know,” they said together. And they did.

“Thank you.”

The rest of the evening was quiet. Bucky had decided he wanted to give Steve his gift when they were alone, and Steve had agreed. Whatever they could keep to themselves, they would. Instead, the four of them simply enjoyed the other’s company, sometimes talking, but often not, content to just sit. At one point, Steve’s eyes closed and his breath deepened. Natasha’s eyes flickered over to them, but again, she said nothing. When Steve woke up, he smiled sleepily up at him. Bucky kissed his forehead and he sighed happily.

It was nearing ten-thirty when Sam and Natasha stood to leave. They followed them to the door, Steve’s hand on the small of Bucky’s back. When she noticed and smirked, Steve just muttered “shut up” and slipped his arm fully around his waist.

“I’m happy for you,” she said, hugging the both of them tightly.

“Thank you, Natasha,” Bucky replied quietly.

She kissed them both on the cheeks and left. Sam stood awkwardly in the doorway.

“I just-thank you. This means a lot.”

“It was no trouble,” Steve said. “Really.”

“Merry Christmas, guys.”

“Merry Christmas, Sam.” They said it together.

Sam gave them one last look, gave himself a little shake, and followed Natasha out the door. Steve slipped his arm back around Bucky’s waist and rested his head in the crook of his neck.

“When do you want your present?” Bucky asked as they walked back towards the living room. He was as proud of this present as he was of Sam’s, and only slightly nervous to give it. It had been harder than he expected to get his hands on, but it would be worth it.

“After church,” Steve said. “We always opened each other’s gifts after Ma and I returned from Church. I don’t want that to change.”

They spent the next half hours in their own rooms. Bucky stared at his closet, pushing aside shirt after shirt. He knew how important this night was for Steve, and he wanted to wear the right thing. He wanted everything to be perfect tonight, so shirt after shirt were ignored. When he came upon the black button down, he paused. He knew exactly what he was going to wear. Bucky actually smiled when he took out the blue jacket and matching trousers.

It had been a long time since he’d worn a suit, but like always, he loved the way it made him feel put together. He tied half of his hair into a bun the way he knew Steve liked it and stared at himself in the mirror. He’d always considered himself to be good looking. Before the war, women had always fawned over him. He’d let them—he was far from blind from his attributes, and it had distracted him from his feelings for Steve. It still occasionally startled him that he didn’t have to hide them anymore.

It startled him even more to know that Steve felt the same way. Bucky didn’t know why—perhaps to shield him from the long held belief that nothing would happen between them—but he’d always expected Steve to think of him as nothing but a friend. And besides, Steve had always been independent; his countless fights had proven that. Their own fights, few and far in between, but vicious, had separated them for days at a time until both of them had cooled down enough to stand the sight of the other. They’d always started after Bucky had patched Steve up the best he could and he couldn’t chew back the tirade over how stupid Steve’s latest string of decisions had been. Most of the time, Steve had taken it silently, but occasionally he would spit back, usually something about not needing a babysitter. After those, he couldn’t imagine why Steve would still love him. But Bucky couldn’t forget the recent admission that one of the reasons Steve had gotten into so many fights was to make sure Bucky didn’t leave. 

They were a tangled web, impossible to untie.

But all of that was in the past. Life was simpler now. They didn’t have to prove themselves anymore. They could just be. At least, that was what Bucky was trying to convince himself of.

Giving himself a small shake to chase away the clinging threads, he took one last look in the mirror, straightened his jacket, and opened the door. Steve stood right outside, poised to knock. He too wore a suit, black with a blue button down. Bucky chuckled to himself. Of course that was what he was wearing.

“Uh, you, you look…uh, you look good,” Steve managed to say, staring at Bucky with wide eyes.

“Your surprise wounds me.” But he smiled because he now recalled a series of times in their childhood when Bucky had entered the room and Steve had worn the same expression. Eyes wide and mouth close to gaping. He’d rendered him speechless.

Steve cleared his throat. “You, uh, you ready to go?”

Bucky nodded. “Mind if we walk?” He wanted the time before mass started to clear his head. He’d told Steve he was okay with this, and he was, he just needed the time.

“I was hoping you’d ask,” Steve admitted. And so they tied their shoes, slipped on their jackets, kissed Eva and Aapeli goodbye (they’d decided that tonight each other’s company would be enough), and left the house. Steve locked the door behind them.

The night was cold and clear. The snow that had fallen earlier that day had moved aside, leaving the stars as visible as possible through the smog of New York. It was the first time he’d seen them in a while. He felt Steve stop beside him.

“You can see Orion,” Steve said. Bucky followed the line of his arm to the sequence of three stars. It was the first constellation Steve had ever been able to point out. Since then, he’d always done it. Bucky could remember moments as the Soldier when he’d stopped at night to seek it out. He hadn’t known why.

They continued to walk in silence until they reached the cathedral, where they took seats in the back. The church was nearly completely filled. Families with young children sat quietly in the middle. Older couples sat at the front, their heads bowed in prayer. Beside him, Steve bowed his own. Bucky followed suit.

_I don’t know if anyone cares or is listening, but if you are, please do everything you can for Steve. He deserves the world and he still holds onto a level of optimism I can’t even perceive. That’s all I ask for. Just look out for Steve. He’s given everything. Give him the world in return. _

He continued staring at his hands until Steve folded one in his own. Mass started a few minutes later with a swell of the organ playing the deep chords of _Hark! The Herald Angels Sing._ The entire time, Bucky focused on the feel of Steve’s hand. The warmth, the pressure, the occasional rub of his thumb over his.

They were the last ones to leave the cathedral when the service ended. Steve had wanted to linger, so they’d walked around, admiring the paintings and sculptures. He’d stared at one painting of the Virgin Mary holding the baby Jesus for so long Bucky thought he’d forgotten how to move. When he finally did, he looked exhausted. Bucky pressed a kiss to his forehead and slipped an arm around his waist. Steve rested his head on his shoulder.

It was snowing again when they finally made it out. Soft big flakes. A perfect snow. Steve immediately looked happier and more awake. When they passed the entrance to a park, Bucky tugged on his arm and gestured with his head. Steve nodded.

There was a bench further down the path and they sat after clearing it of snow. Bucky stared upwards, trying to keep his eyes open against the flakes. The feeling of flying returned and he reveled in it, wanting to focus on the feeling of elation rather than the cold numbness that had accompanied the snow for so many years.

“I’m trying to make peace with the snow,” he said quietly when the silence came to feel oppressive. Steve said nothing, simply squeezed his hand. Bucky looked back into the park.

The fresh snow gleamed under the yellow street lamps. Apart from the ones they had just created, there were no footprints, no sign of anything alive. But here they were, breathing and living the best they could. He could cover the memories of his life as the Solder, blanket over them like snow over boot prints.

“This was always how I liked Brooklyn the best.” Bucky felt compelled to fill the silence. “Quiet and peaceful. It was the only time you could really hear it breathe.”

“I lived for the summers,” Steve replied, just as quietly. It was like if they talked any louder, the moment would shatter. “Hot and sticky and loud. It was when I really felt alive. I didn’t feel like as much of a burden.” He felt a breath shudder through Steve. Bucky didn’t turn his head, but he could picture him worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. “Are you happy?”

Bucky looked down at his hands, at the silver metal folded over cold flesh. “I’ve spent so long just expecting you to leave,” he admitted. “You didn’t sign up for his, for what I’ve done. No, please, let me talk,” he said, for Steve had opened his mouth to argue and if he didn’t finish now, he never would. “There’s been times when I _want_ you to leave because you could do so much better than me. You know it’s true, Steve. You could leave and find someone whole, someone not broken by their past. And I wouldn’t blame you if you did. But am I selfish for wanting you to stay?”

Steve took his left hand in his. Bucky chanced a glance towards him to find that his eyes were filled with nothing but patient understanding. When he tried to duck his head, Steve caught his chin in his palm and pulled it up.

“Bucky, I love you. I’ve loved you my entire life. If you think I’m going to leave because of what you’ve done…I mean,” he shook his head. “I went against the orders of one-hundred and seventy-seven countries to make sure you stayed safe.”

“Well, you always were the stupid one in this relationship.”

Steve smiled and it was that one tiny thing, that small, crooked smile that he bestowed to no one but him, that shattered the feeling of inadequacy that had settled over him. Bucky let the tension in his back melt away and rested his head against Steve’s shoulder. “I am happy,” he whispered. “Happier than I think I’m allowed to be, but I don’t care.”

Steve pressed a kiss to the top of his head and they settled back into silence, just watching the snow blanket the world. Bucky let himself wonder what would happen should they just refuse to move and the snow continued on. Would it be enough to blanket everything he’d done? Would he and Steve just become statues to mark the past? Would anyone recognize them, or would they simply be passed over? And then he forced himself to just let the moment be what it was. It was something he was trying to get better at, quieting his mind and just accepting what the world provided him. Steve’s shoulder moved slightly as he breathed deeply. And just like the smile, it was that tiny thing that allowed his mind to quiet.

A few minutes later, Steve stood, pulling Bucky up with him. The smile was back. After bowing, Steve held out his hand. Bucky laughed and took it. Steve pulled him close and moved into an awkward waltz.

"I’ve been practicing with Natasha,” he said, sheepishly. “I know how much you love dancing, so I wanted to be better for you.”

Bucky had no words for the surge of affection that rushed through him. All he could do was drown in Steve’s eyes. And then, because he could and wanted to, he cupped the back of his head and drew it close.

“I love you, Steve,” he whispered against Steve’s lips before kissing him.

Natasha might know everything about their lives, but at least these small moments were still theirs.

It was past 2 a.m. when they finally stepped back into their house. After their dance, they’d continued their slow walk home. Occasionally they’d recounted childhood stories, but for the most part they’d been content to simply be.

Now, Steve stood in the bathroom, the door shut safely behind him. With steady hands (it had taken weeks to reach that) he unbuttoned his shirt and removed it and his undershirt. Gripping the marble so tightly his knuckles turned white, he stared at himself in the mirror.

He’d taken to doing this every night before joining Bucky in bed, just staring at himself and trying to find something about his body he liked. Yesterday, it had been his eyes, their deep blue the precise shade his ma’s had been. Today, he stared at the stretch marks and scars on his abdomen. He still flinched when he remembered the feel of the bullets piercing his skin. Now, he forced himself to stare at them and just breathe. They were proof that his body was strong.

This practice didn’t have him loving his body, but it created a burgeoning respect. For someone who had never felt comfortable in his body, it was big. And so he stared. He breathed. He told himself he was beautiful (the words, once so hard to say, now came easier—not easily, not yet. But he could say them now).

When he could no longer stand the sight of his body, he slipped on his pajamas, brushed his teeth and went to the bedroom. Since he’d returned from Ireland, they’d turned Bucky’s room into theirs. Steve had only once slept in his bed alone, and that had been when Bucky had had a migraine so vicious he couldn’t stand being touched. Bucky’s bed, though a queen size, wasn’t big enough for the both of them to sleep without touching. He hadn’t slept well that night.

Bucky sat on the end of the bed, holding a small, unwrapped velvet box in his hands. Steve stared at it, heart suddenly racing. It wasn’t that he hadn’t thought about it, he had, mostly at night when he knew Bucky was asleep, he just hadn’t expected it so soon. His own gift seemed tiny compared to this, insignificant even.

"Are you just going to stand there all night or are you actually coming to bed?” Bucky stared at him, head cocked just slightly.

Steve startled and stepped out of the doorway. He grabbed his own present from where he’d set it on the desk and sat beside him, staring at his hands. Despite knowing his answer (there was no way it would be anything but), he was strangely nervous. For some reason, he could only picture Natasha’s reaction and how thrilled she would be.

“You okay, Stevie? If you’re too tired, we can do presents in the morning.”

Steve lifted his head. “No. I want to do them now. “

Without any preamble, he handed Bucky the manila folder. With careful precision, Bucky ripped it open and let the piece of paper fall into his palm. He studied it in silence. Steve shifted uncomfortably.

“I wanted to give you proof that you aren’t anyone other than James Buchanan Barnes,” Steve mumbled when he couldn’t take the silence anymore. “You know, for the times you don’t believe it.”

Bucky still didn’t say anything. He just stared at his birth certificate, his face unreadable. Eva thrust her nose beneath his hands to prevent him from picking at his thumbs.

“Thank you, Steve,” Bucky finally said, tearing his gaze away from the piece of paper. Steve just nodded. He’d gotten the idea from their gift to Natasha. Or maybe it was the other way around, he didn’t remember anymore.

Bucky turned the box over in his hands before handing it to Steve with a deep breath. His knee jiggled. Steve narrowed his brow, but accepted it. He’d expected it on a knee. Not that it mattered. When he realized he was stalling, he opened it. When he saw the raised Peridot gem, he had to choke back a sob. It _was_ a ring, but not for him.

“I know how much you miss her,” Bucky murmured as Steve gently took his ma’s wedding ring from the box; the engraving was still there, though worn down by time and wear. “I figured having a piece of her to keep close to you would help.”

Steve gripped the ring in his palm and closed his eyes tightly. Bucky rested a hand on his back and rubbed the space between his shoulder blades. His ma had given it to him before she’d died. He’d planned on giving it to Peggy before everything happened.

"Thank you, Bucky,” he said when he could manage to speak. He didn’t care how he’d found it or what means he’d needed to go through to get possession of it.

“Of course.”

Steve put the ring back in the box and shut it. With the click, a wall of exhaustion crashed over him. Dinner felt like days ago rather than hours. Before he lost the will and ability to move, he set the ring box on the desk and curled up in his spot. The weight on the end of the bed shifted and a second later, the main light turned off, leaving it so the fairy lights were the only source of light. Bucky pressed up behind him, slipping an arm around his waist in order to rest his hand over Steve’s heart.

Despite his exhaustion, Steve couldn’t sleep. If he closed his eyes, he’d find them open a minute later, staring unseeingly at the wall. Bucky wasn’t asleep either. His fingers played idly with Steve’s shirt, a cycle of gathering the fabric over his heart and smoothing it out. Unable to stand laying on his side anymore, Steve shifted to his back. Bucky immediately rested his head on his chest. A few minutes later, hesitant fingers slipped under his shirt to rest on his stomach. They flinched away from the bullet scars before stretching over them again. Bucky breathed heavily. Steve knew he still hadn’t forgiven himself for what he’d done on the helicarrier.

“Steve?” Bucky’s voice was hesitant, uncertain. “Did you-” he paused and Steve knew he was biting his lip. “Did you think I was going to ask you to marry me?”

“When I first saw the box, yes.”

“What would you have said?”

“Do you even need to ask?”

“I want to hear you say it.” Steve could hear the smile behind the words.

“Jerk.” Bucky huffed a laugh and Steve smiled. “Of course I would’ve said yes.”

It was quiet for a moment. “Is that…is that something you want?”

Sure, Steve had thought about it, occasionally dreamed about it (those were the dreams he’d be okay not waking up from), but he didn’t know if it really mattered. They’d be together no matter what they did. “All I need is you.”

Bucky’s head lifted from his chest and a second later, his lips were against his. It started as a long, lingering kiss. Steve slipped his hands beneath Bucky’s shirt to grip his back. Bucky flinched slightly when his fingers brushed over his shoulder, but relaxed when Steve just held him tighter. Bucky’s hands reached up to tangle in Steve’s hair as he kissed him deeper, hungrily. When the kisses became soft and lazy, Steve smiled and felt Bucky smile in return. Bucky kissed him again before rolling onto his back. This time, it was Steve who put his head on Bucky’s chest.

“How would you propose to me?” Steve asked.

Bucky hummed to himself and carded his fingers through Steve’s hair. “I would make sure the entire house was clean and full of your favorite flowers. There would also be pictures all around the walls, old ones, our favorites of Katie’s, and ones you don’t even know exist. Maybe at that point you’ll have let me put some of your art on the walls. You’ll have been out somewhere, and when you got home, your favorite dinner would be in the oven, your favorite wine in the fridge. Your favorite jazz would be playing on the record. You’d walk through the house to find me in our room where there would be a king size bed.”

“You seem to have put a lot of thought into this,” Steve murmured. He sighed happily when Bucky’s fingers played with the hair at the nape of his neck.

“I’ve had a lot of free time recently.”

“Would you want to marry me?” Steve’s heart pounded as he repeated Bucky’s question. “I’m not saying right now, but in the future.” He idly traced a flower on Bucky’s chest as he waited for the answer and then smoothed Bucky’s shirt as if erasing it. After three flowers, Bucky replied.

“I think right now I’m happy with how everything is. I’d want to be better.”

Steve nodded. It wasn’t a no. Bucky continued to hum beneath him. It didn’t take much more for Steve to fall asleep.

Steve was making lunch when Bucky finally stumbled into the living room the next morning, wearing an oversized sweatshirt with the hood up. He went right to the couch and covered himself head to toe in a blanket. Steve set the peanut butter aside and moved quickly to crouch in front of him. Bucky moaned when he lifted the blanket from his head.

“Bad today?” Steve murmured. Even at a whisper, Bucky flinched away from the sound of his voice. Steve bit his lip, gently brushed a kiss over Bucky’s forehead, and returned the blanket. 

“I’ll be fine in a little bit.” His voice was nothing more than a ragged breath beneath the layers. Steve wanted to believe him, but knew better.

Steve hated these days, where the migraine came without warning and stayed for however long it pleased. He was useless during them. All he could do was sit by and help Bucky wait out the pain. Aapeli wandered over and nosed Bucky’s unmoving form. Steve grabbed her collar and instructed her to lay down. She did so with a whine, resting her chin on her paws. He knew it went against all her training to leave her person in pain. It was her job to help. Steve rested his hand on her head. Eva stretched out beside him, her head on his lap.

It was only when Steve’s stomach grumbled loudly and Bucky moaned that he got up to finish his lunch. He sat on one of the barstools in order to keep an eye on the living room. At one point, the blanket moved and Bucky sat up. Just for a second. He was back in his cocoon before Steve had time to set his sandwich down. Steve filled a glass with water, grabbed a metal straw and walked back to the couch to crouch near Bucky’s head. Doing his best not to disturb the blankets too much, he stuck the straw under them. If he could do one thing today, it would be to make sure he drank something. When the cup was pushed, he took it back. The level had barely changed.

Knowing the best thing he could do was give him space, Steve set the glass in easy reach and went to their room. Without thought, he stripped their bed and threw the linens near the door to put in the wash. A pile of sweatshirts sat by the closet from where they’d thrown them before going to bed and he tossed those in the pile as well. Gathering the pile in hand, he walked to the laundry room and started the cycle. Upon returning to the room, he folded the comforter, set it on the end of the bed, and set to work on straightening the desk. He couldn’t do much, but he could be damned sure their space was clean.

Steve was itching to do more by the time their room was spotless as possible without vacuuming. He’d dusted and polished each surface until it gleamed. The succulents and cacti had been placed in the sun. If Bucky weren’t incapacitated on the couch, he would’ve cleaned the entire house. Instead, he changed the wash, clipped the leads onto Eva and Aapeli, put in headphones, and quietly let himself outside.

He let himself wander mindlessly through the park, allowing Eva and Aapeli all the time they wanted to explore. When they returned home, a couple hours had passed. Steve cleaned their paws with a soft towel and took the clean laundry from the drier, folding the sweatshirts before leaving the laundry room.

The couch was empty when he passed through the living room. He prayed it was because the migraine had eased enough to allow him the rest of the day. When he found their room empty, he knew that wasn’t the case. Aapeli whined softly at the door of the bathroom. A sinking feeling in his chest, Steve deposited the sheets on the bed and went to her. There was no light behind the closed door. As softly as he could, Steve knocked and opened the door.

Bucky lay curled on the floor by the toilet, still completely covered by blankets. A small moan was the only reason Steve knew his head was pointing towards the wall. Steve went to sit against it, knees to his chest. A few minutes later, Bucky sat up and leaned over the toilet, retching. Steve pulled his hair from his face and rubbed his back. Bucky rested his cheek against the seat, trembling, and it was then that Steve realized he wasn’t wearing his arm. Steve flushed the toilet for him, murmuring sympathetically when the sound caused him to flinch.

Eventually, Bucky pushed away from the toilet and curled up on the floor again. He didn’t use Steve’s lap for a pillow, but he pressed his back against his legs. Steve knew it probably brought him more pain, but didn’t dare move. He needed Bucky to know he wasn’t alone. Aapeli whined softly and wormed in on Bucky’s other side. A hand snaked out and wound itself in her fur.

When Bucky whimpered again, his hand leaving Aapeli to grip his head as he curled in on himself, Steve’s heart ached. If he could take even just a fraction of Bucky’s pain, he would do it. It wasn’t fair that he had to continue suffering after everything he’d gone through. After the chair, he knew Bucky was lucky it was just migraines, but it was a cruel hand. He knew Bucky believed he deserved them, that in addition to his guilt, it was a fitting punishment for everything he’d done as the Soldier. When Steve felt the soft shaking of Bucky’s shoulders, he believed anything but.

He didn’t know how long they sat in the dark bathroom with nothing but a sliver of light from the cracked door. At one point, Eva joined them as well, resting her head on his knee. Alpine curled herself on Steve’s lap. Steve started slightly before relaxing back; she never chose him when Bucky was in the room. 

“Steve?” Bucky’s voice was little more than a ragged croak.

“Shh,” he soothed, lightly stroking his shoulder. “I’m right here.”

“I can’t see anything,” he whispered, fear lacing his words.

“You’re okay, Buck. You’re going to be okay,” Steve continued stroking his shoulder. “Just try to sleep.”

Bucky’s hand snaked out again to wind in Aapeli’s fur. Steve continued to rub small circles on his shoulder. Eventually, his pained breaths deepened into sleep. Hating to leave but needing to, Steve carefully extricated himself, telling Eva to stay. He went to their room to make their bed, closed the blinds as tightly as possible and drew the curtains. Their room was left in almost complete darkness. Steve returned to the bathroom and carefully picked Bucky up. When he was tucked into bed, Steve smoothed his hair back, kissed his forehead and left the room, closing the door behind him.

It was late when Bucky stumbled into the living room again, the blanket wrapped loosely around him. He looked miserable, but managed to sit mostly upright beside Steve on the couch.

“How are you doing?” he asked, closing his sketchbook and setting it to the side.

“I can see again.” He winced, closing his eyes tightly. A moment later, he took a deep, shaky breath and opened them. “It was horrible. I knew my eyes were open, but I couldn’t see anything. My vision has gone off before, but I’ve never lost it. What if-”

“You’re not going to lose your vision,” Steve said. “The serum wouldn’t let it happen.”

“Your serum, maybe. Mine was experimental.” He slumped his head against Steve’s shoulder.

“You’re not going to lose your vision,” Steve said again. “And that’s that.”

Bucky returned to bed a little later, the light from the lamp too much even with the blanket over his head. Steve offered to turn it off, but Bucky declined, telling him to keep working on his sketch. He’d kissed him clumsily before stumbling back to his room, once again leaving Steve alone. He scratched Eva’s ears and pulled his sketchbook back on his lap. It was only after he’d stared unblinkingly at the half-finished sketch of his face for so long that it blurred that he pushed it aside, turned off the light and laid back. It was the first night in a long time he didn’t sleep.

The migraine continued for the next two days. If Steve told Bucky to rest, he snapped at him. He would later apologize, a mumble from the couch, where he sat beside Steve with his head buried in his hands. He just didn’t want to lose any more of his life to the organization that had stolen so much.

By the end of the third night, it had mostly faded and Steve felt comfortable enough to return to their bed. Bucky welcomed him back with a happy murmur and a trail of soft kisses along his jaw bone. They both fell asleep quickly.

Steve woke from Bucky moving restlessly. The covers had been flung from the bed and lay in a heap on the floor. Bucky’s breath became erratic. He whimpered in English before flinching. The guttural, unemotional Russian came next. Steve shook his shoulder, hoping it would be enough to break him from his dream. It usually was. When Bucky’s eyes snapped open, his relief lasted for only a second. They were flat. In a fluid motion, Bucky had straddled him, his left hand at his throat.

Steve’s mind flipped into calm of battle. He ducked his chin and used both hands to pull down on Bucky’s arm, attempting to relieve some of the pressure on his throat. His feet found Bucky’s hips. With as much power as he could manage he kicked out. Bucky’s grip stayed tight. Black hovered at the edge of his vision. Thought became harder.

The black had almost entirely filled his vision when the hand left his throat. Coughing and gagging, Steve fell back. Bucky sat, staring at his hand, horrified.

“Bucky,” he said, his voice rough. He coughed again and massaged his throat.

Bucky just shook his head, still staring at his hand. Steve reached out. When his fingers brushed the metal of Bucky’s, his head snapped up. His eyes found Steve’s neck, where he was sure deep bruises were already forming, and his look of horror deepened. 

“Bucky.”

Bucky’s breathing increased rapidly. He fell out of bed and stumbled back into the desk. The jar of pens fell over and clattered to the floor. Steve stood, fighting a wave of vertigo. Bucky’s hand went to his shoulder as he fled the room. A loud thud came from the hall. Steve ran out after him, using the wall as support. He found Bucky’s arm on the ground. A large dent now decorated the wall.

Bucky stood in the kitchen, gripping the counter with white knuckles. His breathing was patchy, as if he was trying to catch a breath but couldn’t. Steve set the arm on the counter and put a hand on his shoulder. Bucky flinched away as if branded.

“Don’t touch me.”

“Bucky, it’s not your fault,” Steve said. He did his best not to wince when the words grated at his throat.

“The hell it wasn’t my fault! I could’ve killed you. I almost did.”

“You were dreaming, Bucky. It could’ve easily been me in your position.”

Bucky whirled around, face distorted in a mixture of rage and disgust. “You’re telling me you’ve had dreams that make you forget you’re no longer a toy soldier, and that if you don’t comply, you’re facing the one thing you’ve learned to fear above everything else? That when you wake up, you can’t distinguish between dreams and reality, but you can remember the overwhelming fear and pain?”

Steve kept his voice as calm as possible. “No, but I have had dreams where I’ve killed you. If you were beside me, I don’t know what would’ve happened.” 

Bucky turned away again, his shoulders tensing. “Just leave me alone, Steve. Don’t try to pretend that you know how I feel.”

Steve reached out. Once again, Bucky flinched away. Steve kept his hand on his shoulder. “Bucky.”

Bucky grabbed the glass that was on the counter and threw it. It shattered when it hit the wall. “Just leave me the fuck alone!”

Heart racing, Steve released his shoulder and left the kitchen. He returned with the broom and started to sweep up the broken glass. 

“We don’t have to talk,” Steve said when he dumped the shards into the garbage, “but I’m not leaving you alone to brood.”

“Please, Steve.”

“No.”

Steve moved the arm in order to sit on the counter. Perhaps earlier in their relationship he would’ve left, but he’d learned not to leave Bucky alone after something had happened. If he was alone, he brooded. If he brooded, he spiraled. It would still take him awhile to start to trust himself again, but if he spiraled, he never would. If Steve left, it would prove Bucky’s fear that even he was scared of him. It wasn’t true, so he wouldn’t let Bucky believe it was.

They sat in silence for over an hour. Steve had taken the arm into his lap and took to rotating it to keep his hands busy. Bucky had slumped against the dishwasher, his knees to his chest, his head between them.

“I don’t understand why you stay with me,” he whispered, finally breaking the quiet. Steve lifted his head from where he’d been staring unseeingly at his lap. Bucky still sat in the same miserable position.

Steve slid off the counter to crouch in front of him. He hesitated before lightly brushing his knee. When he didn’t flinch away, he rested his entire hand. “Because if I left when you needed me the most, I’d be a pretty shitty person.”

"I’m not a good person, Steve.”

“Bullshit.”

“I’m serious, Steve. You shouldn’t love me.”

The words hit Steve like a slap in the face. It took all his self-control not to raise his voice. “No. You don’t get to tell me I’m not allowed to love you. Everyone else already has, and I’ve worked through too much shit to hear it from you. I love you and I choose you.”

Bucky looked up. His eyes were bloodshot and puffy. “What about me can you possibly love?”

Steve stood and took a deep breath, running his hands through his hair. He couldn’t believe they were having this conversation again. They’d just had it a few days ago. Bucky had been unusually quiet after returning from therapy before he’d asked the question. Steve had closed his book and took his hand in his; Bucky hadn’t looked at him. He did the same now, ignoring the popping in his knees as he crouched again.

“I love your smile and the way your nose scrunches when you’re really happy. I love your mind and how wickedly smart you are. I love your heart and the way you speak to Alpine and Aapeli when you think no one can hear you. I love how when I look at you it doesn’t matter where I am, because if I’m with you, I’m home.”

“You should leave,” Bucky said, taking his hand back.

“No.”

“I’m serious. I can’t be who I was before the war.”

“I’ve already told you I don’t care. I’m not who I was before the war either, and I don’t see you complaining about that. In fact, I recall you being happy that I’ve changed. Why can’t I do the same?”

Bucky’s eyes grew flat again. “Because I haven’t changed for the better.” He took a breath, his jaw working. “I’m just dragging you down, Steve. I have too much baggage.”

For the first time, a lick of anger coursed through Steve. “And what do I have? Fields of daisies? I watched you die, Bucky.”

“And how do you think I feel that you watching me fall led you to crashing the plane?”

This time, the words were a punch. He stood up again and turned around, hands back in his hair. He had to fight not to leave the kitchen. Giving themselves space would only exacerbate the problem.

“That was all on me, Bucky,” he finally said, his voice unsteady as he tried to keep it under control. “You don’t get to blame yourself for that.”

"But I do get to blame myself for everything else I’ve done. If you…if you knew absolutely everything, you wouldn’t want to be around me. You’d be so disgusted by me you wouldn’t even be able to stand looking at me, let alone love me.”

“Oh, bullshit,” Steve yelled. “Bullshit! Stop being so goddamn cerebral and just be you.”

“This is me, Steve!” Bucky yelled back. “I’m not a good person.”

“If we’re defining a good person as someone who hasn’t killed anybody, then neither am I. Neither is Sam, neither is Natasha.”

“I’ve nearly killed you so many times.”

“And if your mask hadn’t fallen off in our first encounter, I would’ve killed you.”

Bucky finally met his gaze. Steve couldn’t stand the self-loathing in them. “You should’ve.” 

“No.” All the fight left him and he crouched again. “No, because then I wouldn’t have had the days that proved to me I could be happy again. I wouldn’t have had days where I laughed so hard I thought I would crack a rib.” He bit his bottom lip and sighed. “Bucky, none of what happened earlier was your fault. You were still dreaming.” 

“But if I can do that in my dream, why should I trust myself when I’m awake?”

“Because you’re healing.”

“What if I’m not? What if I’m so damaged nothing can be done?”

Steve sat beside him and pulled him against his chest. He remained tense, but didn’t pull away. “I’d say bullshit, pull you into my arms, and help you glue the pieces back myself.”

“It’s not your job to put me back together, Steve.”

“No,” he agreed, now smoothing Bucky’s hair from his forehead, “but there’s nothing that says I can’t help when you can’t find the glue.”

"I really can’t understand why you stay with me, Steve,” he whispered.

“Why are you so keen on pushing me away? I’m with you, Buck. You can’t get rid of me. But if you really wanted me to leave, if that’s the only thing that would make you happy, I will.”

Bucky’s head pressed against his shoulder as he fully slumped into him. Steve tightened his hold, murmuring softly. His shirt grew damp when Bucky finally allowed himself to cry.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. Steve tightened his hold even more.

"I know. I’m okay, Buck. We’re going to be okay.”

It would take time, but he knew one day, eventually, they would be okay. Until then, all they could do was hold on to each other and take each day as it came.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! School is back in session and I actually have writing to do. Wild. I'm going to try to get at least one chapter done a month (I would like to be able to do more than that, but no promises).


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they talk. Or, the one where yellow frosting makes a bold appearance.

Bucky avoided Steve for a week. He needed to. He knew it hurt Steve every time Bucky fled when he entered the room, but he couldn’t stand to be in the same space. Not when Steve would want to talk about it. Every time they were together, Bucky’s chest would tighten. Steve’s mouth would open and he would panic. If he was holding anything, it would either be gripped so hard it hurt his hand or it would clatter to the floor. The first time something broke, he made sure he only handled things made unbreakable. Steve didn’t understand that Bucky couldn’t talk about it. The bruises may have healed, but it was still raw. When he closed his eyes, Bucky still saw the dark purple imprint of his hand.

The Soldier was always a moment away from being present. Bucky always felt the itch, the promise of feeling nothing.

He spent most of his time outside where he knew Steve wouldn’t follow. The weather didn’t matter. He was used to the cold and snow. And the backyard was Bucky’s. That was the thing that mattered. He’d allowed Steve to share it with him, but Steve knew when he wasn’t welcome. Aapeli followed him everywhere. She was the only company he could stand. Even Alpine put him on edge at the moment. His left shoulder was her favorite spot. Every time she sat on it, he was forced to remember.

Steve knew. He picked her up every time she made to take her place.

It infuriated Bucky how infinitely patient Steve was, at how gentle he was around him. When Bucky retreated to his room and closed the door, he knew Steve would plant himself on the opposite side and continue whatever he was doing. It made Bucky feel strangely better knowing he was there. He couldn’t stand being in the same place, but he didn’t want to be alone either.

When it came to meals, Bucky either ate in his room or in the kitchen. He didn’t let Steve help with the dishes. He needed to make sure everything was done correctly. When he couldn’t control himself, he needed to control everything else.

Steve knew. Steve always knew.

It was 10am on a Tuesday when Bucky opened the cupboard to grab a glass and froze. His breathing hitched. He had to swallow around the lump that constricted his airway.

The bowls were uneven.

There were only three of them on the shelf. Rather than being in one pile, they were in two.

“Everything okay, Buck?”

Steve’s voice sounded far away.

He continued staring at the three bowls, trying to convince himself it was fine. It should be. It wasn’t. It wasn’t how it was supposed to be. They were supposed to be even. They always needed to be even. That’s why they had bought a certain number. That’s why they always used them together, or if they didn’t, took two out and put the one not needed in the dishwasher. They always needed to be even. It’s just how it was.

He thought Steve had known.

He wanted to close the cupboard door and just forget about it, but he couldn’t move. A low buzzing filled his ears. He blinked, trying to clear his rapidly narrowing vision. What a stupid, stupid thing to get worked up about. Thick air blocked his lungs. His chest burned. Stupid, pathetic thing.

A hand reached over his shoulder and took one of the bowls away. It should've made it better, but it didn’t. He knew they’d been uneven. But he found he could breathe again. His vision sharpened, though the buzzing in his ears remained.

Bucky could feel Steve hovering behind him and his chest tightened again. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Steve lift his hand. Bucky flinched away. If he’d been wearing his arm, it would’ve come up to protect his face.

He saw the hurt that flashed across Steve’s face; like that of a wounded puppy. His hands remained up and he murmured softly. Bucky ducked his chin to his chest, his right arm curling over his head. It only registered later that it could be seen as protection. A constant stream of ‘I’m sorry’ left his mouth.

“Bucky, you’re okay,” Steve murmured. From his sheltered position, he barely saw Steve’s fist clench. He flinched away again. Bucky heard him take a deep, shuddering breath.

And then everything was too much. The lone bowl on the counter. Alpine winding her way through Steve’s legs. Aapeli leaning against his leg. He fled the kitchen, ignoring Steve’s calls, and slammed his door shut. There was a whine and he opened it just a crack to allow Aapeli in with him. He sat against his dresser.

It shouldn’t be this hard. They were just fucking bowls. It was pathetic that he’d become this. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. He let the back of his head fall against the dresser with each repetition. Failure. Failure. Failure. The cold apathy of the Soldier hovered at the edge of his conscious. He could succumb. After ignoring him for the past week, it would be only too easy. He could stop feeling.

But the last time he’d done that, he’d nearly killed Steve.

Aapeli thrust her nose into his face, licking away the tears that he didn’t even know had been falling. Or maybe she’d been doing it for a while. Time had been escaping him lately. When she climbed into his lap, he chuckled wetly. She didn’t care about anything he’d done, she just wanted to help. Objectively, Bucky knew Steve was the same, but it was different. Steve knew his past; she didn’t. Bucky wrapped his arm around her and buried his face in her fur. She whined softly and he had his decision. There wasn’t a possibility of letting the Soldier win with her there.

Bucky reached blindly for his phone and sent a quick text. The response came back just as quickly. His thumb hovered over the keypad. Aapeli whined again. He typed in a number. Sam answered on the third ring.

“What’s up?” He sounded breathless and concerned. It was the first time Bucky had ever called him.

“Can you drive me to therapy?” Bucky’s words were so quiet he didn’t even know if he said them out loud.

"I’m out of state, sorry. Talk to St-”

He ended the call before Sam could finish his sentence. His call to Natasha went the same way. Deep, twisting panic boiled in his stomach. Bucky was either going to have to put on his arm or ask Steve. Neither of which he wanted to do. But he _needed _to talk. He needed the calm of the office. He needed out of the house. He needed to figure out which option scared him less.

He tightened his hold on Aapeli and attempted a deep breath. It was shaky. He held it for three seconds, pursed his lips, and exhaled slowly. Bucky repeated the process until his first inhale was steady.

Steve was poised to knock when Bucky opened the door. (Bucky wondered how long he’d stood in that position, so he could look like he’d just walked up, and how long he would’ve waited until he did eventually knock). He looked sad and exhausted. His phone was in his hand, still showing his conversation with Sam. Of course, Sam had texted Steve. Bucky had asked him to drive to therapy. Guilt worked through him; he hadn’t even thought of how that would affect Steve.

"Let’s go,” Steve said. “I’ll drive.”

“Okay.”

Steve looked surprised that Bucky had actually answered. Bucky didn’t blame him; it was the first time he’d responded in a week. Steve nodded, slipped his phone in his back pocket (ignoring a new notification from Natasha), and walked to the door. Bucky followed at a distance.

Steve tried to start a conversation in the car, but Bucky just stared out the window. Children in various gardens were building snowmen. It must have snowed last night. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to talk to Steve. He did, really. It was just that one of the last things he’d said to Steve was that he shouldn’t love him. How did he come back from that?

But how long would Steve wait for him? How long would it take for Steve to decide it was in his best interest to leave? No matter what Bucky had said, he didn’t want that. He was scared to think of what he would revert to if Steve left him alone.

It took him a few minutes to realize the car had stopped and they were sitting in the parking lot of Dr. Scheinbaum’s office. Steve stared at his lap, picking at his thumbs. Bucky wanted to say something. Instead, he opened his door, let Aapeli out, and walked into the office.

“So explain to me what’s going on, Bucky,” Dr. Scheinbaum said when they’d settled themselves on their respected piece of furniture. Bucky had stalled doing even that, naming the rest of the plants that had been waiting patiently for the perfect name. He’d known by the look in her eyes that she was disappointed; he’d hadn’t to do that in weeks. One nightmare had ruined weeks of work. Bucky was just glad she hadn’t mentioned his lack of arm.

“I almost killed Steve.” He said it as loudly as he could. He couldn’t keep hiding from it.

She uncrossed her legs and leaned forward, setting her portfolio on the coffee table. Bucky could just make out small doodles of flowers on the edges of her notes. “What happened?”

Bucky tightened his hold on Aapeli’s scruff. “I had a nightmare. I don’t even remember what it was,” (that was a lie—he was still scared of returning to it if he fell asleep, so he tried not to), “and when I woke up, I was the Soldier. Steve was there. The Soldier had never finished his last mission. By the time I realized what I was doing, he was almost gone.”

“After that?” she prompted when he’d sat in silence for a few minutes. He stared unseeingly at the carpet.

“I ran from the room. Steve followed because of course he did. We had our second proper fight since living together again. I said somethings that shouldn’t have been said, and I’ve been running from it ever since.”

He hated how simple it sounded laid out like that. It was anything but.

“What made you want to stop running?”

He looked at her, trying not to shy away from her piercing gaze. “I don’t want Steve to leave and I told him that he should more than once. I just don’t know how to start a conversation with him.” It wasn’t a lie.

She scooted forward in her seat. “There’s something else you’re not telling me, Bucky. What happened this morning?”

It wasn’t the first time Bucky had the thought that she knew more than she should. “Are you an alien?” he asked. “Can you read my mind?” He didn’t know what would surprise him anymore.

She laughed and shook her head. “No, Bucky. I’m just a human who is very good at her job.” Bucky continued staring at her and she nodded. “Alright. I’ll tell you my secret if you tell me yours. Deal?”

“Okay.” He’d end up telling her anyway.

“You had an appointment tomorrow. You’re good at running from things—you and Steve both, actually—so you could’ve kept running if it was just the fight. So that tells me something else happened. Am I right?”

Bucky nodded. “The bowls were in the wrong place.” He still shuddered at the thought of it, and how utterly defenseless he’d become. Dr. Scheinbaum made a small noise.

“Steve came to comfort me because he hasn’t given up on me for some reason. When he raised his hand, I flinched.” Bucky’s gaze unfocused as he stared at the carpet. He absentmindedly scratched Aapeli’s shoulders. “And I just keep replaying that moment in my head. I knew he was going to put a hand on my shoulder—it’s Steve, it’s what he does—and I wanted him to. That’s the worst part. But when I saw the hand raise, I flinched away. If I’d had my arm, I would’ve shielded my face. From Steve. I just…how do I reconcile that? I told Steve he shouldn’t love me. I told Steve he should leave. And then I flinched away.” He blinked, forcing himself to stay in the moment, and looked back at her. “How do I come back from that?”

“Do you want to?”

“Yes.” The word tripped over itself in its rush to leave his mouth. “I don’t want Steve to leave. And maybe that’s selfish, maybe it would be safer for the both of us, but I don’t want to be alone and scared. That’s what I am right now.”

“Okay,” she said, nodding. “Find your step one.”

The first time she’d told him this, he’d frozen. Figuring things out himself wasn’t something he’d been allowed to do. He followed orders. If he’d tried doing things his own way, if he’d diverted from the mission in any way, he’d been punished. She’d talked him through looking at his situation and evaluating what needed to be addressed first and what could fall into place after. It didn’t matter how many times he stumbled getting there. Whatever happened, he knew her office was safe.

“Okay,” he said, pulling out his phone. “Give me a second.”

***

Steve was in the process of trying to relax when his phone buzzed with a series of incoming texts.

> BUCKY [12:30pm]: Go home
> 
> BUCKY [12:30pm]: I’m okay
> 
> BUCKY [12:30pm]: I promise
> 
> BUCKY [12:30pm]: There’s something I need to take care of when I’m done
> 
> BUCKY [12:31pm]: I’ll walk home
> 
> BUCKY [12:31pm]: Go home and get some sleep
> 
> BUCKY [12:31pm]: I promise I’m okay

Steve responded with an ‘okay’ because how was he meant to illustrate the panic the first message had instilled in him? A part of him wanted to stay, to make Bucky tell him where he was going and what he needed to do, to make him stop running away, but he stopped himself. He needed to trust Bucky. He said he was okay, so Steve would believe him. God, did he want to. Steve wanted him to be okay so they could go back to how it had been before. It was selfish, but he wanted it.

Steve missed him. It was as simple as that. He missed the feel of Bucky pressed against his back, an arm wrapped loosely and protectively around him. He missed the way he hummed when Steve put his head against his chest and the way his fingers idly played with his hair. He missed the way he smelled when they woke up after being tangled together, like sleep and the rain and home. He missed Bucky’s smile and the laugh that would scrunch his nose. He missed the casual touches when they were both going about their day; a brush of fingers across an arm, a quick hug or kiss.

He missed talking to his best friend.

If everyone else was allowed selfish desires, why wasn’t he?

> ME [12:40pm]: I love you. See you when you get home

After five minutes without a response, he tucked his phone back into his pocket and started the car.

Steve immediately dressed for a run and hooked on Eva’s lead when he got home. There was no way he would allow himself to get so lost in his head that he drove himself to exhaustion. It was the first time he didn’t run with music.

He stood under the spray of the shower much longer than the five miles warranted. By the time he stepped out, the water had begun to run cold. Dressed in his favorite pair of sweatpants and Bucky’s Nasa sweatshirt, he sat on his bed and pulled out his sketchbook and favorite pencil. Eva curled up next to him.

On the day of Bucky’s migraine, he’d started a new project. It was one was never sure he’d begin, and one that he was still terrified of. But after months of therapy, he couldn’t keep pushing it off. So he stared at the half-finished sketch of his face before the war. With a light hand, he sharpened his cheekbones and hollowed his cheeks. After hesitation, he shaded a black eye. He’d had one more often than not; it was a miracle he hadn’t been blinded. The second half was simple. A few quick strokes were all that was necessary to give a base for the monkey. A few more minutes had the transition between his face and the primate as seamless as possible. Two halves of the same coin.

By the time he’d started on the uniform, he wasn’t sure how he felt. He’d designed his project as his own form of therapy, to help him work through the feelings of inadequacy he’d felt in his first years as Captain America (but if he was being honest with himself (which he was trying more to be) even until he gave up the shield). If that small, sickly kid who, in his own right, was a walking miracle could do everything he had done, then Steve was pretty cool, right? The will of iron that kid had was more than a match for the dancing monkey they’d made him out to be. At least, that was what he was trying to convince himself of.

Bucky would take one look at this project and tell him he was being stupid. That of course he was cool and he’d looked up to that little kid Steve was so harsh on. In response, Steve would tell Bucky that he was proud of the progress he was making and in awe of him. Even just a week ago, he would’ve hoped Bucky believed him. Now, he wasn’t sure.

When his hand started to shake, he tightened his grip on his pencil and tried to ignore it. Right now, the small details of his uniform were the most important thing. The folds. The overlarge collar. By the time he got to the star, he could barely hold the pencil. He couldn’t see through the tears threatened to fall. Shoving his sketchbook to the side, Steve pulled Eva close to his chest and finally allowed himself to cry.

Steve had been on the verge of tears the entire week, but he hadn’t been about to let Bucky see how shaken he was. If Bucky for one second through Steve was scared of him, he would leave—Steve had no doubt about that. So he’d kept it in. He’d practiced breathing and meditation. For the first time ever, he’d journaled. Because no matter what he told Bucky, he had been scared. He didn’t want to die. Not anymore. Not when he was finally living for the first time in his life.

And then Bucky had just ignored him. A small part of Steve understood why—not facing the problem was easier than acknowledging what was done, and Steve was masterful at that—but the rest of him was angry. Steve had gone through shit, too. In the later years of the war, he’d done things, become someone, that he hated thinking about. He understood, maybe not to the same degree, but he understood what Bucky was wrestling with.

Sure, they’d had fights before—they were both too pig-headed to avoid those—and they’d given themselves space to cool down. Three days had been the longest Steve had been able to go before going back to figure it out. Usually, all they needed was a couple hours. It made him wonder if Bucky truly needed the space to process or if he was punishing himself. Or, and Steve tried not to let this thought out, if he was unconsciously trying to prove to Steve that he should leave. And it made Steve wonder, a hot pile of guilt curled uncomfortably and painfully in his throat and stomach, how long he was able to wait. When would it become better for him to leave? Bucky going to Dr. Scheinbaum was good, but talking to someone else wasn’t the same as talking to Steve.

He was numb long before he ran out of tears.

Steve was thirty-two, technically. All he should have to deal with was figuring out who he was and what he wanted from life. He should be young and in love. He should be trying to sell his art. He shouldn’t have to worry about ghosts from his past trying to disrupt him at every turn; he shouldn’t even have ghosts that he needed to run from.

There had been a young couple he’d seen the last time he and Bucky were at the store. They’d laughed so easily, calling back to each other from different spots in the aisle, touching the small of the other’s back when they returned to the cart. Later, he’d heard them talking about the wedding they were going to soon. That’s what he wanted.

He wanted to come home from school excited to tell Bucky about what he was doing. He wanted to laugh loudly and often. He wanted to visit Bucky on his lunch breaks at the garage. He wanted to make new friends, and go to weddings, and be there when someone gave birth. He wanted holidays with friends where they didn’t have to dance over topics. He wanted to Live. Loudly and freely. And he wanted to do it with Bucky. After all, they’d both been given this second chance. What good was it if they didn’t use it?

He was tired of everything fucking it up.

When Steve heard the front door open, he turned so he faced the wall and closed his eyes. He heard footsteps falter and knew that Bucky was standing in his doorway. A part of him wanted and expected Bucky to just move on and let him be. The footsteps began again. Something was placed on his nightstand. His bed jostled as Bucky sat. Steve kept his eyes shut tight, but he knew Bucky knew he was still awake. It was petty of him, but why shouldn’t Bucky know how Steve had felt this past week?

But he couldn’t ignore the fact that Bucky was there. He hadn’t sat close enough to touch Steve, but Steve could feel his heat and hear his even breath. And he was _there_. It didn’t take long for his resolve to crack. Steve uncurled himself just enough to put his head on Bucky’s lap. A few minutes later, light fingers brushed through his hair.

Steve had always been a tactile person; he needed touch like he needed food and water. He didn’t know if it came from his childhood where he’d needed contact in order to stay warm. He didn’t know if it was just him. While not talking to Bucky for a week had been terrible, not being touched went against a fundamental part of his being. And so, if a few hot tears made their way down Steve’s cheeks when Bucky played with his hair, that was only for him to know.

They sat in silence, and then in encroaching darkness when the sun began to set. For the moment, it was enough that they were simply together. They would talk at length, but not yet. Steve needed the calm that came from touch. It was like the aftermath of a particularly bad nightmare and all he needed was the fact that Bucky was there.

“Stevie, can we talk now?” The room had been completely dark for what felt like an hour. In any other circumstance, Steve would’ve been asleep (or at least, relaxed enough to easily slip into sleep). Instead, his body was completely charged. Twinges of anxiety tightened his stomach.

He didn’t want to answer, but he knew Bucky knew he was awake. “Okay.”

“Can we turn on the lights? I’ve hidden in the dark for too long.”

Steve wanted to say no. He didn’t want to see Bucky’s face when he told Steve he was leaving. He didn’t want Bucky to see his face when he heard it. But Bucky wanted the lights on, so he reached out and switched on his bedside lamp. He stayed curled up, keeping his face as hidden as possible.

“Stevie, will you sit up, please? I want to have this conversation face to face.”

Steve didn’t move. It took every ounce of his will not to curl up tighter. If someone were too look at them from afar with no knowledge of what had happened, Steve knew they would think he was the one that had done something. He hated that he was like this.

Bucky shook his shoulder. “Stevie, please?”

He wanted to talk, he did, but now he was the one scared of it. He was scared of what they both would say. He was scared that this talk would turn into another fight. But he also knew that’s what would happen if they didn’t. So he sat up, his legs crossed under him, and forced himself to look at Bucky. Bucky tried to smile, but it was nothing more than a twitch of his lips. Steve was too tired to even attempt. It was clear that neither of them had slept more than a few hours each night for the past week.

“If you’re going to tell me you’re going to leave, I can’t do this,” Steve said, his voice breaking. He made to resist when Bucky threaded his fingers through his, but the feel of Bucky’s hand in his was like a prayer. The tightness of his shoulder dissipated slightly. Just a simple thing like this was all he needed to stay happy.

"No.”

“You’re not going to leave?” Steve hated how pathetic, how dependent, he sounded, but he couldn’t help it. Bucky was integral to his happiness.

Bucky tightened his hold on Steve’s hand. “Of course I’m not going to leave you, Steve.”

“You asked Sam first.” That had felt like a twisted knife. Getting a second text from Natasha asking if everything was okay only added salt and lemon to the wound.

Bucky shrugged halfheartedly. “I couldn’t talk to you, Steve. One of the last things I told you was that you shouldn’t love me. Then I flinched away from you. How was I supposed to just come back from that and ask you for help? The thought of being in the car with you was nauseating.”

“I shouldn’t have reached out the way I did,” Steve said, hoping there was a bit more dignity in his voice. “I just-I didn’t know what to do so I did what I would’ve wanted someone to do for me.” But he couldn’t deny that seeing Bucky try to shield himself from him had hurt.

Bucky lowered his gaze. Steve thought he was staring at his lips, but couldn’t be sure. “I wanted you to comfort me, Steve. I did. It was the Soldier who saw the hand.” He closed his eyes tightly. Steve knew he was reliving the memory and brushed his thumb across the back of Bucky’s hand.

“There are going to be things I do that are never your fault,” Bucky eventually continued. He looked back at Steve, his eyes serious. “Steve, I need you to know that I’m never going to be a hundred percent okay.”

“I know that.”

Bucky stared at him unwaveringly. “Do you, Steve?”

This time it was Steve’s turn to drop his gaze. Bucky’s lips were chapped. For some reason, that thought made him sadder than anything else. “I do know,” he said quietly, “but I still dream. Is it so selfish?”

“Don’t, Steve. Don’t paint an image of me that I can never fulfil. It’ll only lead to disappointment.”

Steve’s shoulders collapsed forward. “You told me not to love you. What else was I supposed to do?”

“I didn’t mean it, Steve.” The anguish in Bucky’s voice had him looking back up.

This was the part of the conversation Steve was most scared of. “You did, Bucky. You wouldn’t have said it unless you did.”

“I’d just almost killed you! I was scared-”

“So was I!” (Bucky made a sound at this, a breath shuddering through him). “But I came after you, surely that had to mean something.”

“I scared you,” Bucky whispered.

“No. Hey, look at me.” Steve waited until Bucky had met his gaze before continuing. “Yes, I was scared, but not of you. I was scared because I knew you would blame yourself when it’s not your fault. I know the Soldier is still there. I know you still have to fight. You just-just talk to me, Buck. That’s all I ask. Talk to me. After everything you’ve done for me, let me help you.”

“I forget sometimes that I’m allowed to talk,” Bucky whispered.

“Okay,” Steve said gently. “We can work with that as long as you promise me that you won’t run away again.”

“I don’t think I can, Steve. I’m scared of my dreams and what they can make me do. I don’t want to hurt you again.”

“You need to give me more credit, Buck. I’m not that little kid you need to protect anymore. It takes a lot to bring me down. Pretty sure a one-armed traumatized jerk who thinks science fairs are fun doesn’t fit the bill.” Bucky didn’t laugh like Steve thought he would. “Sorry.”

“You’re mad at me.”

“No.” Steve sighed and shook his head. “That’s a lie. I was.” Glossing over that truth would only cause problems later on. “You can’t just shut me out like that, Bucky. I know you were scared about what you could do, but ignoring me, fleeing the room when I walked in, asking Sam for help before me, that hurt. So yeah, I was angry at you because that was a choice _you_ made, not the Soldier.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m just frustrated now—not at you. I’m frustrated with everything. I’m frustrated that healing seems like it’s four steps back to every one step forward. I’m frustrated that just when everything seems to be going okay, when we’re finally happy, something implodes. And I’m frustrated that I’m frustrated because that only makes things worse. All I want is a normal life. After everything, don’t we deserve that?”

“I’m sorry that I pushed you away. I’m sorry that I told you not to love me. It was the only thing that made sense to me in the moment.”

“I get it; I pushed people away after you fell. I’m sorry if at any point you thought the plane crash was your fault. That’s _all_ on me. And I’m realizing now that we’ve never talked about it, at least not when both of us were able to contribute. So if you wanted to,” he took a deep breath. “If you wanted to talk about it, I’m ready.”

“I don’t. All I need to know is that you want to live.”

Steve took Bucky’s hand and placed it over his heart. “I do.”

Bucky slumped forward enough to rest his forehead on Steve’s shoulder. “Thank you for not giving up on me.”

Steve drew Buck’s head up and cupped his chin in his palm. “Never,” he said, drawing his thumb across his cheek.

“I want to do better by you, Steve. None of this is fair to you.”

“Bucky, I knew what I signed up for. I’m not saying it’s always easy, it’s not, and I know I don’t always make it easy for you. The thing that matters here is that I love you. Everything else we can figure out. I don’t care how long it takes.”

Bucky lifted his head from Steve’s hand. “I still want to do better by you.”

Steve nodded. “Okay, then stop blaming yourself for what happened. Trust that you’re healing. Stop trying to push me away because I’m not going anywhere. Talk to me. I don’t care if you don’t know what to say and we sit in silence for hours. You just can’t shut me out again. I can’t do it.”

Bucky nodded. “I’ll try.”

Steve attempted a smile, though he didn’t know how successful he was. He was giddy from the course this conversation had taken. “You know that’s all I ever ask.”

“You’re too good to me,” Bucky mumbled.

Steve gathered Bucky in his arms and drew him into his lap. “When are you going to realize how amazing you are?”

Bucky didn’t answer that. Steve rested his chin on top of his head and hummed. It was a role reversal of sorts that Steve realized he didn’t mind.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky finally said.

“I know.” Steve kissed his hair. “I forgive you.”

It was quiet for another period of time. Steve continued humming. It was a while before he realized it was the song the showgirls had sung during their tours. The Star Spangled Man with a Plan. If only they could see him now.

“Thank you for believing in me, Steve.”

“Anything for my best guy.”

Bucky tilted his head up and Steve took it as the invitation as it was. He lowered his head and pressed his lips to Bucky’s. When he drew away, he pressed another kiss to his forehead and held him tighter. Bucky nestled his head into Steve’s neck.

“I have something for you,” Bucky said. “I meant to give it to you before, but I think it’s better now.”

“It can wait,” Steve murmured, not wanting to end this moment.

“But I don’t want it to.”

Steve tightened his hold momentarily and let Bucky go. To his surprise and happiness, Bucky didn’t leave his lap, only reached out to the nightstand where there was a small box. Inside it was a cupcake. Vanilla with bright yellow frosting. Steve laughed quietly, a smile spreading across his face.

Their first real fight when they were kids was the worst fight they’d ever had. Both of them had said a lot of things they shouldn’t have. The worst part was that neither of them had been able to dispute the honesty of what was said. On day three, Steve hadn’t been able to take the distance anymore. He’d taken a few of the coins he’d been saving for art school and went to the bakery Bucky loved. A cupcake was all he’d been able to afford. When asked which one he wanted, he’d picked the one with yellow frosting. It was one of the only colors he’d been able to see.

“Split it with me?” he asked. It was much larger than the cupcake he’d bought Bucky.

“Okay.”

Steve took a bite and then held it up for Bucky. Yellow frosting clung to his nose.

“Yellow’s a good color on you,” Steve said, unable to keep the laugh from his voice.

Steve was going to kiss Bucky’s nose, but Bucky had different ideas. He proceeded to scrape the remaining frosting off the cupcake and smear it all across Steve’s face. His nose scrunched as he peered at Steve. “I think it makes you look a bit pasty. I don’t think it plays well with all your stupid.”

“To be honest, I don’t know anything that plays well with my stupid,” Steve said, wiping his face with his hands. Which was probably a stupid thing to do as they too were now full of sticky frosting.

Bucky sighed. “I guess it’s a good thing my tolerance for stupid is high.”

Steve frowned. “Would you be in a better place if your tolerance was low?”

“I think we’d both be dead, Steve. I hate to admit it, but your stupidity is one of the only reason we’re both alive.”

Steve grinned. “I always knew there was a reason behind it. Didn’t I tell you, Buck?” He ran a hand through his hair. “Fuck.”

Bucky signed and dropped his face into his palm. When he lifted it, there was a big yellow handprint.

“You know, the fact that they let us into the army astounds me sometimes,” Steve said.

***

Bucky slipped on a pair of sweatpants but hesitated before putting on his shirt. His hand went to his shoulder. What he hated most was the band of metal that not even Shuri had been able to replace. They’d soldered it into his skin. No matter what, even if he went without his arm, he was branded.

The band of angry scars around it had made him sick the first time he’d seen them. He remembered bits and pieces of when he’d clawed at the metal, not realizing that the abomination was part of him. They always burned.

It was almost easier for him to do certain things with one hand now. He tried only wearing his arm when it was absolutely necessary. It didn’t always work out, but it allowed him the peace of mind he so desperately craved. Plus, it was fun to watch Steve splutter when he easily did something with one hand that he struggled to do with two.

Bucky shrugged on his shirt and padded to the living room where Steve had placed himself on the couch. A blanket was on his lap and he looked a little calmer and happier now. But he always did when he sketched. His hair was still damp. When Bucky joined him, keeping just a little space between them, he flipped his sketchbook closed.

“Can I see what you’re working on?” Bucky couldn’t believe this was the first time he’d asked. Depending on how it went, he would make it a goal to ask more often.

Steve worried his bottom lip between his teeth. “It’s rubbish,” he said. “I wanted to start a new series, but I can’t get anything right.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.” Steve continued to bite his lip. “Please, Stevie?”

Steve flipped back to the page he’d been working on and dropped his head. Bucky sucked in a breath of surprise and sadness.

The features of the monkey obscured almost the entire face. It was obvious it had once been half and half, and an eraser had violently carved away more and more of Steve’s bony face. In one place, the page had ripped. It was with a jolt that he realized the side he’d kept humanish was his deaf one.

The uniform drowned him. Beneath it, it was if his body didn’t even exist. Yet, it didn’t quite serve to erase the bend in his spine that had made his shoulders crooked. Or maybe it did and Bucky created the higher right shoulder himself.

Bucky hated it. He hated the naked honesty. He hated how good it was. Steve had obviously poured hours of time into the small details that made it realistic.

“Is this how you see yourself, Steve?” Bucky asked, looking up from the sketch.

“Not all the time,” Steve mumbled, still looking at his hands.

“Steve.” Bucky sighed, looking at the drawing again before looking back at Steve.

“Don’t tell me I shouldn’t, Bucky. Don’t tell me that’s not how people saw me. It’s certainly how I felt.” Steve took the sketch book back and closed it. For the first time since Bucky sat down, Steve looked at him. “I am working on it. I promise. In its own way, this is going to help. If I get it on the page, maybe it won’t be in my head anymore.”

“Does that mean you don’t want me to tell you how amazing and handsome I think you are everyday?”

Steve smiled the crooked smile meant just for him. “I mean I wouldn’t say no to that.”

Bucky chuckled and patted his chest. Steve immediately shifted to rest his head over his heart, sighing happily when Bucky startled playing with his hair. How could he have almost thrown this away? He vowed that he would go out of his way to make sure Steve felt as loved and cherished as he did. It was the least that Steve deserved.

“The hardest part will be figuring out something new to say every day,” Bucky continued.

“Oh, shut up,” Steve muttered. “You’re smart. You’ll think of ways to shower me in compliments.”

Bucky laughed. “Have I told you how much I love you?”

"Not recently, no.”

“You’re the best thing to happen to me, Steve. I mean that.”

Steve cracked an eye open. “S’no problem, Buck. You make it easy.”

He closed his eyes again and somehow managed to snuggle even closer. Bucky kissed his hair and continued to thread his fingers through it. He paused when he felt something crusty behind Steve’s ear.

“Steve, how the hell did you manage to get frosting behind your ear?”

“It’s your fault. You’re the one who shoved frosting in my face in the first place.”

“You sure you want to go that route?” Bucky was just being a little shit now. Anything to get him out of being blamed.

“Can’t say I know what you’re talking about.”

“You sure?” He really just wanted to see how Steve reacted.

Steve just shoved his face back into Bucky’s chest and muttered, “_Ithe cac.”_

Bucky cackled. “_Eat shit_, Steve, really? That’s your response? And you wonder why people don’t see you as the mature one between us.”

The portion of Steve’s cheek that was still visible turned bright pink. He buried his face even deeper into Bucky’s chest and muttered something else that was smothered by his shirt. Bucky rolled his eyes. It was most likely something else in Irish. Steve liked to revert to his native language when he was embarrassed and didn’t want Bucky to know. Bucky hadn’t told him that he was in the process of learning the language. It was slow going, but one day he would surprise him. He had a plan that made him smile every time he thought of it.

When Steve’s hand snuck under his shirt and rested over his ribs, Bucky jumped.

"Sorry,” Steve muttered, making to move his hand away.

“No, you’re okay,” Bucky told him. “You just startled me is all.”

Steve’s hand moved back. Before long, his thumb swept back and forth. Bucky wondered how many scars Steve had needed to desensitize himself to before he’d been able to do that without flinching.

Bucky debated asking his next question. He’d chastised Steve for doing it, but he wanted to know. Out of the two of them, Steve had always been the one with an imagination; he’d never been afraid to share it. And maybe it wasn’t as bad as he thought. Although, a part of him hoped it was; he didn’t know how much worse he could take feeling. He tired three times before he was able to make the words speak.

“You said you dreamed of a life where we were both okay. What was it?”

“Do you really want to know?”

Bucky nodded. Steve sat up and took Bucky’s hand in both of his. Alpine walked along the back of the couch and curled herself on his shoulder. He’d missed her weight.

Steve looked thoughtful. “It’s not much different than this,” Steve told him. “We both have things that fill our days that we love. For you, it’s a garage where you get to fix bikes or cars or whatever it is you like-”

“Bikes,” Bucky murmured.

“You get to fix bikes every day. I come visit you during our lunch breaks and I probably have paint somewhere, or I’m covered in pencil smudges. You have to convince me to leave so we both stay on time. I go to classes and come home excited to tell you about what I’m working on. I’m making things that I’m proud of. And yeah, we still have things to deal with. We still have nightmares, but they don’t define our life. We make new friends and invite them over for dinner because you’re the best damn cook I know. I try to help in the kitchen." He laughed softly. "I _try_ to help you in the kitchen but you kick me out because I’m ‘distracting’. We laugh loudly and often. The main thing is that we’re happy and nothing can change that.”

“I like that.”

Steve’s eyes softened and he reached out to cup Bucky’s cheek in his palm. Bucky leaned into his hand and kissed his thumb.

“Bucky, I know that neither of us are ever going to fully heal from our pasts. It would be naïve of me to dream of that. But I do dream of a time where we’re free enough to not have to think about it. I just want us to be happy.”

“So do I.”

Bucky watched Steve’s eyes close before he drew Bucky forward. When their lips met, his heart stuttered. God, he’d almost lost this. How had he been so willing to let this go? It would’ve protected Steve, sure, but it also would’ve shattered him.

No. He wasn’t going to think about that anymore. It was the past. It wouldn’t do any good to keep rerunning the memories. It didn’t mean that he didn’t care what had happened—he did and he would learn from it—but he couldn’t keep punishing himself. It didn’t make it right or okay, but it was over.

Bucky cupped the back of Steve’s head. When his thumb brushed against the dried frosting, he barked a laugh. Steve joined in. Once started, he found he couldn’t stop. Alpine hissed when she was dislodged from his shoulder. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d really laughed. It didn’t take long to have him gasping for breath. And it felt good. Steve’s hand was clasped over his left boob as he too gasped for breath. Bucky wiped at his eyes.

When they met each other’s gaze, they dissolved again. At one point, Steve snorted, and Bucky laughed harder. Aapeli nudged his hand, wanting to know what was going on.

“Yellow frosting. Who knew?” Steve managed to say, reaching up to wipe away what was still behind his ear.

“God, I love you.” His stomach hurt from laughing.

“Of course you do. I’m a fucking delight.”

“You’re a punk, is what you are.”

Steve just shrugged, his grin wide.“I think it’s just a package deal with the stupidity.”

Bucky smiled, shaking his head. “Then it’s a good thing I have a high tolerance,” he repeated.

“A good thing,” Steve agreed and once more drew Bucky forward and kissed him. This time, Bucky didn’t think at all.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Science. Or, in which Steve and Bucky have the age-old argument: Reddi-Wip or Cool whip. 
> 
> I now say 'what the fuck, I love them' more than I actually write.

When Bucky was sure Steve was deeply asleep, he kissed his bare shoulder and got out of bed, grabbing his shirt from where it had landed on the floor. As he slipped it over his head, he stared at Steve. Mouth slightly open and sprawled out, one foot sticking out from under the covers, hair completely disheveled. Snoring. Bucky still marveled at his luck that Steve had chosen to love him.

He wanted nothing more than to get back into bed and kiss him awake, if only to see the sleepy smile that would stretch across his face as he stared blearily up at him. But if that happened, Steve would fold him into his arms and kiss his neck before sighing in contentment and going back to sleep. Either that or ask him what was wrong. Bucky didn’t know if he would kiss him until he forgot what he was scared of or say ‘nothing’, in which Steve would fold Bucky into his arms and go back to sleep.

So instead, he watched Steve until the urge was too strong and went into the living room as had been his routine for the past couple nights. He was still terrified of what his dreams would bring, so he did his best not to sleep. Bucky knew that if Steve was next to him, he would. On the bright side, he was getting back into his pile of books. He always made sure to be back in bed before Steve woke up. So far, Steve was none the wiser. 

As always, Aapeli padded heavily after him and flopped at his feet with a heavy sigh. After a moment of thought, she rolled onto her back, and looked up at him. She grumbled, thumping her tail.

“Shh,” Bucky whispered. “You’ll wake up Steve.” That wasn’t true, but she didn’t need to know that.

Now that he felt safe, once he was asleep, Steve could sleep through almost anything. He, Sam and Natasha had proven that earlier when they’d stacked themselves on top of him. Steve had slept for another hour and had been thoroughly startled to find three people on top of him. Bucky had found the experiment quite relaxing; nestled on top of Steve, he’d gotten a nap in as well. Sam had gagged when Steve had kissed him awake.

Aapeli grumbled again, louder this time, and continued wagging her tail. Bucky chuckled and settled himself beside her, his back against the couch. She looked meaningfully at him. He gave a vigorous scratching of her belly. She rolled back onto her side and lifted her hind leg. Her front paw landed on his arm, pushing him away slightly, but when he stopped petting her, she looked affronted. She grumbled and thumped her tail again, this time hitting the coffee table. The cup of paintbrushes Steve had left out tumbled over and clattered along the table. Bucky winced. There was only a loud snore. Bucky rolled his eyes. And Steve liked to claim he didn’t snore.

Aapeli nudged his hand. Bucky looked back at her and cocked his head. The thought had just claimed him, and if he didn’t follow through it was possible he would explode. It didn’t matter that it was past midnight.

“You want to go for a walk, baby girl?” She immediately sat up, her ears perked. “Yeah, you want to go for a walk?” She sprang up, narrowly avoiding hitting the coffee table again, and spun in a circle. “Okay, let’s go.”

Bucky was glad he’d started wearing socks to bed. Then again, he’d only started when he’d decided to once again spend his nights in the living room. Plus, his feet got cold easily. That’s what he told Steve. It wasn’t a lie.

Aapeli stood still while he put on her boots and then waited patiently while he got himself ready. It was far from the coldest temperatures he faced, but it was still early January. When she wasn’t looking, he slipped her favorite ball and a few treats in his pocket. January. Bucky blinked. That’s what they had missed. New Year’s had happened while Bucky had been avoiding Steve. Steve probably hadn’t brought it up to avoid making Bucky feel bad.

He hooked on Aapeli’s leash and quietly let them both outside. Considering how overcast it had been earlier, the sky was surprisingly clear. There were only a few wisps of clouds to mask the fattening moon and they could barely do that. A light wind easily chased them away. Bright stars stared down. The temperature hovered in the low single digits. At this time of the year, Bucky couldn’t ask for better weather.

They turned onto the path that would take them into the park. After a cursory glance around to make sure the park was empty, he unclipped her leash and threw the ball. It lit up as it whirled through the air. Aapeli tore after it, spraying him with snow. He chuckled. She ran back at top speed and skidded to a halt in front of him, the ball blinking in her mouth. Bucky took it from her, gave her a treat, and threw it again. They only stopped when she flopped to the ground at his feet instead of sitting. Bucky ruffled her ears and clipped her leash back on.

Bucky didn’t remember how Steve felt about New Year’s. Just because their celebration was full of laughter didn't mean he enjoyed it. It meant he’d lived through another year, which was always worth celebrating, but it had also meant he’d been closer to death. They’d always known he was going to die young. It was the uncomfortable truth he’d needed to get used to early in their relationship. 

Bucky frowned. Why did it always have to matter what Steve thought about something? He wanted to celebrate. They’d gotten through 2016. Most of the year had been shitty, but the last third of it had been good. Living with Steve was good. And he’d never thought that they’d get together. The thought that they’d only made their relationship official a month ago still weirded him out. It made the fact that he’d yelled at Steve to leave even worse.

He shook his head vigorously, causing Aapeli to look up at him. That was in the past. There was no point in bringing it back up. They’d talked about it and learned from it. That was the important thing.

In that moment, Bucky made his decision. He was going to throw a party for just the two of them. Maybe Sam and Natasha would be invited if they didn’t annoy him too much. Because yes, a lot of bad had happened last year, but there had been a lot of good too, and that was worth celebrating. He was still in the process of planning when he returned home.

Light snores still came from their room. Bucky smiled softly. He could read a little bit before returning to bed. With an oversized mug of cinnamon tea in hand, Bucky settled himself in the recliner. The _Twilight _Saga eyed him from their place on the small bookshelf. Sam had promised he would fulfil his end of the bargain when the weather was warmer so he could comfortably wear the outfit he had bought at Christmas. With a meaningful stare, Bucky promised he would hold him to that. If it didn’t happen by his birthday, Bucky would have words.

Aapeli jumped on top of him. Bucky absentmindedly scratched her ears and took a sip of tea. Adam and Dog attempted to divide up the entire world between his gang. He’d nearly finished by the time he fell asleep, _Good Omens_ falling from his grip and landing with a soft plop on the ground.

There were only flashes of dreams to disturb his sleep. The first time he woke up, he only had time to realize his feet were cold before sleep dragged him back again. The second time he woke, he was awake only enough to know that something was being draped over him. The third time he woke, Steve was bent above him, kissing his forehead. Sunlight streamed in through the tall windows. His book was no longer on the floor. The afghan had been draped over him. Even his feet had been tucked in.

“Welcome back to the world of the living,” Steve said.

Bucky groaned. His back hurt from spending the entire night in the chair. “What time is it?”

Steve looked back to the kitchen. “Just after one.” He looked back to Bucky. “You out here the entire night?”

“I couldn’t sle…” he trailed off at Steve’s raised eyebrow.

“Yeah, your snoring and drooling tell a different story, Buck.”

Bucky sat up slowly, stretching as he did. “I’m pretty sure the drooler is you, Steve.”

Steve grinned. “You so sure about that?” If he was trying to surreptitiously put his phone away, he failed miserably.

Bucky trained his stare on Steve until he squirmed. “Let me see them, Steve.”

“I can’t say that know what you’re talking about.” The fact that he didn’t look at Bucky as he said that was most suspicious. He rocked back and forth on his heels. Bucky slowly began to remove the afghan. Steve’s eyes widened and he bolted. Bucky jumped from the chair.

Steve had always been fast. That didn’t always mean he was smart. Bucky followed him into their room, where he was met with the amusing scene of him burrowing face down under the comforter. If Bucky had been wearing his arm, he would’ve wrapped Steve tightly in the blanket, picked him up, and dumped him into the snow outside. As he wasn’t, he did the only other thing he was able to think of in his sleep fogged state: he sat on him.

“Fuck,” Steve whispered.

Bucky wormed his hand under both the comforter and Steve’s sweatshirt. Steve tensed under the light touch on his ribs. “Give me the phone, Steve.”

“No.” It was a pathetic attempt to be valiant. If the end of the negative hadn’t jumped up an octave when Bucky flexed his fingers, it might have worked. Maybe.

“Phone.”

Steve shook his head best he could. Bucky flexed his fingers again and Steve squirmed, giving a rather unflattering squeal. Yet, he still refused to hand over the evidence. Bucky sighed. Two hands would make it easier, but he would make it work.

“Okay, Stevie, just remember, you brought this upon yourself.”

He dragged his finger lightly down Steve’s spine. Steve’s shoulders rounded, and his fist clenched. Smirking to himself, Bucky drew the comforter away and pulled Steve’s shirt up. This time, he took his time dragging his finger down, enjoying every vertebra. Steve hissed, fighting to not have a reaction. Without giving him time to recover, Bucky leaned down and pressed a kiss to the middle of his back. Steve curled in on himself again, nearly knocking Bucky from his position on his butt. Bucky was poised to repeat the action when Steve gave in. Bucky did it anyway.

“I hope you know I hate you,” Steve groaned. “I don’t regret a single picture.”

“And here I was thinking I was the best thing that ever happened in your life. I’m hurt, Steven. Deeply.”

Steve’s hand nudged the inside of his thigh as he worked to grab his phone from its place in his back pocket. With a grunt, he pulled it out.

Bucky plucked it from his hand. “Thank you, dear.”

“I don’t know why I’m rewarding such terrible behavior,” Steve mumbled, still trapped beneath Bucky, who had no plans on moving any time soon. “It’ll make you think it’s okay to go and attack people unawares.”

“Oh, unawares, huh?”

He paused at the photo that Natasha had taken when they hadn’t been paying attention. Bucky was holding Steve from behind, kissing his hair, and Steve’s small, happy smile was everything good in the world. The cup of coffee he’d just poured was forgotten on the counter. He still didn’t know when Natasha had taken it, and she had never elected to tell. He stared at it for a moment before typing in Steve’s password. When he’d first learned that it was Bucky’s birthday, he’d just snorted.

Bucky opened his photos and looked at the incriminating evidence from afar. “What does that make taking a multitude of pictures of your poor, dear friend while he’s peacefully sleeping for the first time in days?”

Steve muttered something into his pillow. Bucky kept scrolling, yet to look at the pictures in their full size. He scrolled. And scrolled. A few of them were videos.

“My god, Steven.” He clicked on one of the later photos. They featured Steve as well; he leaned close to Bucky, pointing at what he could only assume was drool. The last picture was Steve kissing his forehead. So much for what he’d thought was a gentle wake up.

“Do you have a death wish?”

Bucky could barely make out, “you never believe me,” from when it was spoken into the pillows.

Bucky scrolled up to the start of the photos and counted the number of rows. “You needed sixty-nine photos to prove to me that I occasionally drool when I sleep?”

“If you look closely, you’ll notice some very subtle changes.”

“I’m going to smother you,” Bucky told him, opening another photo that was an extreme close up of his face. Bucky couldn’t deny the small amount of drool on his chin. He also couldn’t deny how funny the pictures were. Not that he would ever tell Steve that. It would only encourage such behavior.

Steve’s phone buzzed with an incoming text. It was from Sam. All it had was three laugh-cry emoji’s. Bucky clicked on the notification to be brought to their messages. As he’d suspected, Steve had sent a picture. Bucky sent a reply.

> STEVE [1:31pm]: Be very afraid.
> 
> SAM [1:32pm]: :o

Needless to say, Bucky was rethinking inviting Sam to their late and very impromptu celebration of the new year. A second later, there was a text from Natasha. It was compiled of a photo of Steve with a much larger string of drool, with the caption ‘who wore it better?’ Bucky grinned. She was definitely invited.

“Are you going to let me up anytime soon?” Steve asked.

"No. This is your punishment.” He ran a finger down Steve’s spine again just because he could.

Steve harrumphed. “I had plans for us today.”

“So did I,” Bucky said. “And I’m thinking about only inviting Natasha. I don’t know if you and Sam deserve to be included in the amazing fun I have planned for the evening.” He wasn’t really mad at Steve, but it was fun to have his way. And, Steve could get up anytime he wanted.

“I promise that you’ll like what I have planned.”

“Will I now?”

“Yes.”

“What is it?”

“That would ruin the surprise now, wouldn’t it?” Bucky walked his fingers up Steve’s spine. “Fuck you,” Steve whined.

Bucky kissed his back again and rolled off him, chuckling at Steve’s squeal. “You’ve lost that right.”

Steve blushed deep red. Bucky patted his butt and left the room. He would consider including Steve in his plans for the evening. Who knew what chaos he and Natasha would emit should they be left alone. It would depend on how much Steve kissed up to him today. Bucky grinned. It was going to be a good day.

***

Steve continued to lay face down on the bed, his face pressed into the pillows. It wasn’t fair. How wasn’t he supposed to take photos of Bucky when he was sleeping? He honestly hadn’t noticed the drool at first. He’d just been taking photos at various angles so he’d be able to use them as reference for later projects. The fact that he had memorized Bucky’s face as he slept meant nothing.

If he’d changed his home screen photo to be a close up of Bucky’s face while he was drooling, that was for no one but him to know.

He didn’t need to send Sam and Natasha photo evidence, but he didn’t regret it. And besides, he knew Bucky wasn’t really mad. When he’d turned his head, he’d seen Bucky trying not to laugh. After the week they’d had, they needed some laughter in their lives

And Bucky was Bucky. He couldn’t not take pictures of him every chance he got. If one would scroll through his camera roll, Bucky was basically the only subject. Sure, there were a fair amount of photos of the dogs, and a few of them together; some selfies (the first one they’d attempted—before Steve realized there was a front camera—was horrendous. It was basically just their foreheads and a sliver of their eyes. Bucky had it as his lock screen), and some pictures that Natasha had taken for them. He liked looking at those to see how far their relationship had grown. It was easy to see how much they’d healed.

Their first photo together, they were awkward. They hadn’t known what to do. Steve had put his hand around Bucky’s waist, the thing he’d craved to do for a while. Bucky had tensed, but gripped Steve’s shoulder. Their smiles were tired. The last photo Natasha had taken of them was simple. They were laughing. Happy.

Steve had never shown Bucky his favorite picture of him. He knew Bucky would hate it; how weak it made him look. What Bucky wouldn’t see was the strength of it. He was sitting in the backyard, his hands clenched in the grass. There were tears on his face, but there was also a smile. It was subtle, and if you weren’t as familiar with Bucky’s face as he was, you wouldn’t be able to see it. But it was there. It was a smile of being at peace.

When he was finished with the project he was working on, he would draw it. Maybe return to watercolors. Bucky had seemed to like it when he painted him in color. Or maybe, he would do it now. His project could wait. He shouldn’t feel compelled to finish it just because he’d started it. And besides, he’d finished the one he needed to. The thought of painting Bucky again brought a smile to his lips. He’d always preferred drawing Bucky over himself. There wasn’t any need to think. There were no snide voices to ignore.

“I thought you had plans for the day, Steven,” Bucky yelled from the living room. “Or was that just a lie to get me off your ass?”

Steve sighed, put his phone back in his pocket, and rolled out of bed. Bucky was standing by the couch, shirtless. Steve’s heart immediately began to race. Arm in hand, Bucky carefully reattached it and rolled his shoulder. Steve could only blink when he grabbed his shirt from where it was draped over the back of the couch and put it back on.

“Oh, close your mouth, Steven. It’s not like you’ve never seen me shirtless before,” Bucky said, smirking. "Not as if _you_ haven't taken my shirt off."

“Not enough,” was the response Steve’s brain thought was acceptable and appropriate. It was out of his mouth before he could stop himself. _Fuck._

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “How you managed to keep your feelings under wraps for as long as you did will forever astound me.”

“I don’t think I did, Buck. I’m pretty sure if we could see footage of that time there would be a sign above my head that said ‘Gayer for you every day, please notice me’.”

Bucky snorted. “Fair enough.” 

Steve held out his hand, making his face as serious as possible. Looking confused, Bucky took it. Steve gave him a handshake. “Bucky, I’m bisexual and I’m incredibly in love with you.”

Confusion replaced with seriousness, Bucky returned the handshake. “Steve, I’m an asshole.”

Steve closed his eyes, sighed, and nodded. “Asshole, get your shoes on. We’re leaving.”

Thirty minutes later, Steve pulled into the parking lot and killed the ignition. He quickly went around to open Bucky’s door and help him out. When they’d gotten close, Steve had him close his eyes. He wanted it to be a surprise. One arm around his waist, he led him to the doors, paid admission and followed the signs to the exhibit he was most excited for.

The museum hadn’t existed when they were kids. If it had, Steve was positive Bucky would’ve practically lived here.

Steve positioned Bucky closest to the center he could. “Okay,” he said. He kept his arm around his waist. “You can open them.”

Bucky blinked once before his eyes opened wide. He dropped his head back to stare at the soaring ceilings. The walls were paneled with warped blue glass. Purple light filtered through it, giving it a space-like feel. Further ahead, long electronic screens detailed different eco-systems. Little kids jumped around, playing out different scenarios. Steve knew they’d need to be careful. Bucky would be able to spend days with that.

“Stevie,” Bucky breathed.

Steve kissed his cheek. “In case I ever made you feel that I didn’t like being dragged to science fairs.”

Well, he didn't. Steve never went to a place of science for his own enjoyment. Most of them left him feeling uncomfortable, and if it was up to him, he would never go. But they were important to Bucky, so Steve could suck it up for an afternoon.

Bucky noticed the screens, grabbed Steve’s hand, and nearly sprinted over to them. The little kids had since moved on, which was good. He wasn’t sure Bucky would remember his manners when science was involved. As soon as they were on the floor, the screens around them came to life. The grasses of the mountain valley waved in an invisible wind; the animals in the jungle peaked out from the trees; a tall giraffe-like creature ate some flowers in the wetland; strange creatures rolled around the desert floor. Bucky jumped up and the grasses parted.

Steve laughed at the utter joy plastered on Bucky’s face. He ran around, testing how different movements affected different ecosystems. More than happy to simply watch, Steve walked over to one of the benches, remaining standing. It was fun to see Bucky become a kid again.

Another few kids ran into the exhibit, jumping up and down the way Bucky had. One of them shadowed Bucky. He turned around to see her, and a grin split his face. Steve wasn’t close enough to hear what he said to her, but a few seconds later, the other three kids were huddled around him. Steve rolled his eyes when they stuck their hands in the middle and cheered. They marched over to the computer where you could create a simulation. A natural disaster would hit one of the ecosystems and you would need to use the information they gave you to reverse it and prevent the other ecosystems from falling into chaos. The kids nodded. Bucky hit a button. An earthquake struck the mountain valley and Bucky and the kids jumped into action.

A woman came to stand next to Steve, her eyes trained on the organized chaos happening before them. Laughter was common. Bucky grabbed one of the logs on the floor, preventing the river from breaking its bank. 

“Which one is yours?” Steve finally asked her.

She pointed to the girl with the high pigtails. The one that had shadowed Bucky before. “Which one’s yours?”

She thought he was a dad. Now that Steve looked, there _was_ a boy with golden hair that couldn’t be more than six. He worked with Bucky to move another log from the river. Bucky pretended it was extremely heavy and actually fell to the ground, panting with the effort. When the boy lifted it easily, Bucky told him he had to be a superhero to be that strong. The boy laughed gleefully. They scampered off to fix something else when the girl with pigtails called out to them. Steve’s heart expanded, a wide, easy grin spreading across his face. Maybe one day.

He realized she was still waiting for his answer and he pointed to Bucky at the exact time Bucky looked over to him, grinning like a maniac and yelled, “Stevie, you have to come look at this!”

“I’ll be there in a second, Buck,” he called.

“IT’S SCIENCE, STEVIE!”

The girl called him and he bolted over to another screen, bending low and sweeping his arms up toward his chest. Grass started to grow. The other kids stood in front of the other screens, following his motion, or adapting to something else if it didn’t work with their environment. A minute later, the screens all changed to say CONGRATULATIONS. They all cheered.

“Stevie! Come on!” He actually stamped his foot.

“You better go,” the woman said, smiling. “It sounds important.”

Steve chuckled. “It was nice talking to you.”

She nodded. Steve walked over to Bucky, who had folded his arms across his chest and started tapping his foot impatiently. 

“You’re a grown-ass man, Bucky,” Steve said when he made it to him and Bucky grabbed his hand, hauling him over to the mountain valley monitor.

“Who was forced to be an assassin for seventy years. I can do whatever the fuck I want. Now stand here.” Bucky directed Steve to stand directly in front of the monitor and came to stand behind him.

“What are you-”

“Shh,” Bucky whispered, spreading Steve’s arms. Steve shivered when Bucky’s hands covered his and their cheeks brushed. “Just trust me.”

So Steve did. He allowed Bucky to maneuver his hands, let him raise them above his hands and sweep side to side, making grasses part and winds gust. At one point, one of Bucky’s hands left Steve’s and came to rest on his waist. The hand remaining on his gave a tug and Steve spun, somehow landing perfectly in Bucky’s arms again. When Bucky led them into a controlled waltz, Steve followed albeit a bit clumsily (however, he only stepped on Bucky’s feet twice, and that was progress). He was breathless and dizzy by the time they ended, but he found he couldn’t look away from Bucky’s eyes. If this moment had happened before they’d confessed their feelings, Steve’s mind would’ve been racing about whether or not he should kiss him. His mind was quiet. He kissed Bucky softly, his heart fluttering. Bucky kissed him again before turning Steve around to face the monitor. His arms snaked around Steve’s waist, pulling him tight against his chest.

Steve gaped.

What had once simply been grass was now a field of wildflowers. Vivid pinks, deep purples, muted blues, and vibrant yellows waved gently in the invisible breeze.

“How?” Steve whispered.

Bucky’s quiet laugh tickled his cheek. “Kindness begets kindness. Gentleness yields beauty,” Bucky murmured. “And science.”

"Okay, that is pretty cool,” Steve admitted.

“Hold up. Did I just hear Steven Grant Rogers admit that science was cool?”

Steve tilted his head to see a wide grin on Bucky’s face. He fought to keep his own smile away and said grudgingly, “maybe. But you’ll never get me to admit it to another person.”

“I just don’t get it, Steve,” Bucky said, taking his hand. “You’re literally a science experiment.” (Steve flinched when he said this.) “You were part of the Strategic _Scientific _Reserve. How could you not think science is cool?” He walked them back into the center of the great hall and gestured to the soaring ceilings and warped walls.

Steve shrugged, rubbing his arms uncomfortably. He didn’t like talking about this because he knew Bucky wouldn’t understand. He would think he did, but he wouldn’t. Not really.

“I _am_ just a science experiment. This,” he gestured to his body, the thing he’d been trying to like for years, “this came out of a bottle. This is what people see. They fawn over something I hate. And before this, people didn’t think I was worth treating. They saved their science and medicine for someone who had a chance at living. If Ma hadn’t been a nurse…” He looked down at his shoes, frowning. “I never thought I’d live this long.” He said it more to himself than anyone else. “I almost miss the days when I knew exactly what people thought about me.”

“That’s bullshit, Steve. You’re not-”

“You just said it, Bucky. And it’s true. No one knew for sure if it was going to work. And if this little, sickly runt of a kid died because of it, no one would’ve gotten hurt.”

“I would’ve.”

Steve couldn’t fully translate the emotion on Bucky’s face, but it was sad. He shook his head. “I’m just being stupid. Ignore me.”

Bucky brushed his thumb over Steve’s cheek. It was a motion that had never changed through the years. “It’s not stupid, Steve. What’s stupid was when you thought pleated pants were fashionable.”

The unexpected comment jolted him from whatever funk he’d been in. “They were what I remembered. If you’d been frozen in the mid-forties and then woke up sixty-six years later, I’m pretty sure you would go for what you remembered too.”

Bucky just sighed. “Tragic. Absolutely tragic.” With one last awe-filled look at the walls, he tugged Steve forward. “Come on, there’s a whole museum to explore before they close.”

Steve jerked Bucky’s hand so they walked side by side again, their arms swinging. “You know, I’m pretty sure if Captain America asked nicely, they’d let us stay.”

Bucky looked aghast. “Haven’t I already told you we that we have plans for the night?”

“Oh, so it’s a we now, is it? And here I’ve been thinking that you and Natasha have been cheating on me.”

“Oh, I want to take it back. Can I revoke your invitation?”

“Bucky. I live in the same house as you.”

“Your point being?”

Steve was going to say that it was impossible for Bucky to do something in their house without Steve being involved in at least some way, but hadn’t last week proved otherwise? He needed to be okay with the fact that sometimes Bucky would want to do things with other people and not him. So if he wanted to do something with Natasha, Steve would let him do something with Natasha. Maybe he’d pop in and say hi, but he’d let them be. As long as Bucky talked to him beforehand, he wouldn’t mope. Maybe he’d be a bit hurt, but he’d get over himself. They both had separate lives.

They turned down an empty hallway. Bold lettering on the left-hand wall proclaimed it was the Walter O. LeCroy Gallery. He spent a few minutes admiring each photograph before moving to the next. There was an alcove made completely of glass. Bright winter sunlight filtered onto the floor. With all the natural lighting, it would be an amazing place to set up an art studio. The windows looked out onto a small playground. A weird dragon sculpture was just barely visible under the snow. Steve imagined it was a popular place for kids in the summer.

“Hey, Buck?” Bucky looked over from where he examined a photograph further down the hall. Steve furrowed his brow, trying to think of how to best phrase his question. Bucky walked over, joining him front of the alcove. Finally, he gave up and just spoke.

“Why is it—and I’m not judging you, I’m just genuinely curious—why is it that you can completely let go of everything when you’re around children, yet when piles of bowls aren’t even, you get a panic attack?”

Steve watched the reflection of Bucky shrug. Now it was his turn to look sheepish and slightly uncomfortable. “With them, I can remember what it’s like to be a kid. I remember that I was one once. They make it easier, I guess. I remember that I wasn’t always like this.”

“When you were saving the world from ecological disaster, the woman I was standing with thought I was a dad.” The thought still made him smile.

“Is that something you want?”

Steve turned away from the window to find Bucky staring at him, his bottom lip between his teeth, his eyes wide. “I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about it.” He didn’t know if the surge of happiness he’d felt was because of the assumption that he was a dad, or from watching Bucky interact with the kid. Maybe both. “Would you?”

Bucky frowned. It was like he hadn’t expected Steve to turn the question back on him. He nodded almost shyly, as if he didn’t know he was allowed to. “I was in the trenches in Azzano when I realized what I wanted my future to look like when I got home. Thinking about it was the thing that kept me sane through everything. I was going to come home and kiss you. I was going to build a house. I was going to be a dad who spoiled his kid.”

He rubbed his left arm as he spoke. Steve had been surprised when he’d seen Bucky holding it this morning. He’d planned on saying something about it, but he’d been distracted. But it was good that it was on. It meant he was getting more comfortable with the idea of it again. He wasn’t running away. That was the thing Steve liked more than anything.

If they wanted to solve anything, they needed to stop running. _Steve_ needed to stop running. He didn’t know what he was still running from, but he knew there was something. There was always something with him.

He held out his hand and Bucky took it. Steve rubbed his thumb over the metal. “We’ll figure us out one day, right?”

Steve thought there was a look of disappointment on Bucky’s face when he changed the subject, but it settled into a small, content smile before he could think twice about it.

“Steve, if we ever figure us out, the world has exploded. But I suspect we’ll learn how to read.”

“There’s an exhibit I know you’ll love.” It was the one he scared of, but if Bucky could let go so completely, so could he. “Can I show you?”

“You want to do science with me?” The grin that split Bucky’s face was nearly blinding.

Steve was almost embarrassed to have brought it up now. “If that’s okay with you.”

Bucky kissed him fiercely, tightened his hold on Steve’s hand and dragged him out of the gallery. It took a solid minute for Steve’s head to stop spinning long enough to realize they were going the wrong way, and longer yet to be able to cut through Bucky’s chattering in order to correct their course.

***

Bucky watched Steve as he struggled to connect the two pieces of wood he was working with. He had been told not to ask what he was attempting to make, but could rest assured that it was going to be amazing when he finished. Assuming they both lived through the process of him making it.

“Okay, Steve. You’re going to kill yourself if you keep going on the way you are. Here’s a hinge, some screws, and a screwdriver. Do you know how to use them?”

Steve just took them from his hand with a “thank you” and kept working, his tongue between his teeth. When he started muttering to himself, Bucky just sighed. This was what he had signed up for.

The exhibit Steve had wanted to show him was called the Design Lab. It was created to let kids go wild and make things, exploring the science of how things were made in the process. Different stations allowed people to solve different problems as creatively as they wanted to. It was like he’d died and gone to Heaven. They’d worked together on every station except the last, where Steve had decided he wanted to do it on his own. It was everything Bucky could do to make sure he didn’t accidentally kill himself with a tool he didn’t know how to use.

It was emptier now. When they’d first arrived in the exhibit a few hours ago (it was almost closing time now. If Steve wanted to finish what he was making, he would need to hurry up.) kids had swarmed the center work tables. They’d yelled to each other across the large table, offering a new solution that others hadn’t thought about. Bucky didn’t even think they knew each other. That had been the great thing about being a kid; you made friends with who you needed to.

Steve asking him if he wanted to be a dad had startled Bucky. After what he’d done, he’d put that dream aside. No one in their right mind would let Bucky have a kid. No matter how he’d changed and healed, one look at his past and he was done. Who cared if Steve Rogers was his husband? Bucky Barnes was the Winter Soldier. They wouldn’t care that before he’d been muzzled, the Soldier had tried to give flowers to every little girl he’d seen.

He still thought about it sometimes, imagining certain situations if they had a kid. Like earlier this afternoon when Steve had refused to give up his phone. Or when they took Eva and Aapeli out for walks to the park. Movie nights on the couch where they ended up laughing more than watching the movie. He thought about it all the time, actually. Sometimes he wanted it so much it hurt.

It had been an unusually quiet night in the trenches when he’d decided that if he had a girl, he’d build her a dollhouse. One that was big enough to service any kind of doll she might want. It would be the house that he and Steve had made up. Steve had been sick, so Bucky had laid on the floor beside his bed, jacket balled under his head. He’d asked him what he wanted their house to look like. Twenty bedrooms with big beds, he’d said. An art studio with the biggest windows one could imagine. A science room where Bucky could do whatever it was he liked to do. The biggest kitchen for Sarah to cook in (because even then, no one in their right mind would allow Steve to cook anything). Bucky would let her add anything she wanted.

He’d never really thought about what he would do if he had a son. Bucky had always wanted a little girl.

When Steve had left the subject behind without asking anything else, it had hurt. But it was fine. No one would let him have a kid anyway, so what was the point in talking about it? Building dreams would only make it hurt more.

Steve poked Bucky’s arm, holding up the mangled mess of wood that was miraculously held together with a hinge. “See, Buck! I told you I could build something!”

Bucky cocked his head to both sides. “What’s it… um, what’s it supposed to be?”

Steve stared at it as well, letting it dangle from his fingers. There was a pregnant pause. “I have no idea. I had no plan when I started.”

Bucky nodded, trying not to sigh. “Good.”

_“The Museum will be closing in ten minutes.” _

The hinge broke, sending the wood crashing back to the work desk. Steve stared at it. Bucky stared at Steve. Steve closed his eyes, his lips folded in, and heaved the biggest sigh. He swallowed. Bucky fought to keep a straight face despite it being the funniest thing he’d witnessed all day.

“Let’s go,” Steve said.

When they were in the car, Bucky pulled out his phone and told Natasha to meet at their house in two hours. She responded in an affirmative and he put it away. After a moment, he pulled it out again and told Sam the same. It wouldn’t feel right to have a party without him. And besides, it Steve sent Bucky a picture of Sam drooling, he would’ve responded in the same way.

“Don’t forget, we need to stop at the store on the way home. I need to pick up a few things for tonight.”

Steve changed lanes. “Are you going to tell me what your magical plans are, or am I just going to have to wait?”

“What did we miss when we weren’t speaking?”

Steve looked at him momentarily. “What?”

“That’s your clue. Pay attention to the road, Steve. You’re going to miss your turn.”

Steve pulled into the parking lot. Bucky was out the door before he even turned the car off. There was a pounding of feet on the pavement, and then a hand slipped into his.

Shopping was supposed to be simple. But when Steve got an idea in his head, it was nearly impossible to talk him out of it. It was how they found themselves having this argument in the middle of the dairy aisle.

“Steve, we do _not_ need cool whip. We have more than enough reddi-wip in the cart, and I have no idea who in their right mind would choose cool whip over reddi-wip. So no, you don’t get to put cool whip in my cart.”

“Why is it always your cart?”

“Because Steve, I’m the one who does the shopping. You just stand there and put unnecessary items in the cart.”

“If we have reddi-wip as an option for tonight, we need cool whip. Therefore, it’s not unnecessary.”

“If we have reddi-wip, there is no need for cool whip, Steve. Seriously, who eats cool whip?”

“Sam.”

“Oh. Oh, that explains so much. You’re still not putting it in my cart.”

Steve stood with the container of cool whip in his hand. “If I just hold it, it’s not technically in your cart.”

“That travesty is not coming inside our house.”

“Well, um, technically it’s my house. My name is the one on the contract.”

Bucky glared at him. Steve hastily put it back in the fridge. “Thank you.”

When they finally got home, Bucky was exhausted. The argument with Steve over cool whip had lasted an embarrassing twenty minutes as it had two reprises. Steve had refused to take no for an answer. Wanting to leave the store, Bucky had been forced to yield. He hoped Sam would be happy.

While Steve unloaded the bags, Bucky began preparing dinner. Due to the time they spent at the store, it would still be cooking when Sam and Natasha arrived, but it would at least be close. If Steve had just been able to leave the cool whip alone, they would’ve had almost perfect timing. But that was Steve.

“So are you going to tell me what we’re doing tonight?” Steve asked. He stood on the opposite side of the counter, his chin in his hands as he watched Bucky put the corned beef in the dutch oven. Bucky sprinkled it with his spice blend, some brown sugar, and bay leaves, and then covered the entire thing with water.

“If you pay attention to what I’m making, it should be incredibly obvious.”

Just because he wasn’t going to tell Steve what his plans were didn’t mean he was being secretive. When else did they eat corned beef?

“Do you need any help?”

Since Bucky had started teaching him how to cook, he’d gotten pretty good with a knife. When there was a lot of prep for meals, he would have Steve chop. Usually it was nice, working side by side in silence. But he needed a little time to himself, so he shook his head.

“Nah, this is pretty simple. I’m just going to prep the potatoes, carrots and cabbage, but they don’t need to go in the pot for two hours.”

Bucky could see Steve thinking. The softest smile lifted the corners of his lips. “We missed New Year’s.”

“I thought we should still celebrate. Might be six days late, but better late than never, right?”

Steve walked around the counter and into the kitchen. He took Bucky’s shoulders, turned him around and kissed him. “You really are amazing,” he said, resting his forehead against Bucky’s.

Bucky wrapped his arms around Steve and hugged him. No matter what happened in his future, if Steve was part of it, he’d be fine. He could live without being a dad. Gotten used to the idea, even if it pained him. He could no longer live without Steve. 

“I love you, Steve,” he murmured. “You know that, right?”

Steve’s arms tightened around him. Bucky didn’t know how long they stood there, not talking, just holding the other. His fingers curled tight around Steve’s jacket. Steve’s hand cupped the back of his head. Bucky had to fight not to cry.

When he’d still been trying to figure out who he was after the Soldier, when he’d been living alone in Bucharest, there had been moments at night when all he wanted was to be held. Without being looked at. Without being kissed. He’d just wanted to be wrapped up in arms and held tight without selfishness. And now he had it. He had it without being asked to change. He had it by just being himself.

If Bucky hadn’t already known he was deeply in love with Steve, he would’ve known just from this.

When Steve finally pulled back, he kissed Bucky’s forehead. “I’ll be in the living room if you need me.” He grabbed a package of cheese and peanut butter crackers and hopped over the back of the couch.

“I thought my crackers weren’t an adequate snack, Steve.”

All he saw was Steve’s hand giving him the bird. Smiling, Bucky set to work peeling his carrots and potatoes.

***

Steve couldn’t stop thinking about the look on Bucky’s face when he’d asked him if he wanted to be a dad. It was like someone had flipped a switch in him. Steve didn’t think Bucky even knew the smile he’d worn when he’d voice his desire to have a kid. It was luminous. Full of hope. There had been no weight on his shoulders.

Steve had never imagined himself as a dad. Not anything more than a fleeting thought of what his life would’ve been like if he’d married Peggy. There had never been a reason to. When he was little, there hadn’t been a point. Then the war. Then the ice.

The answer he’d given Bucky was true. He didn’t know. He didn’t know if he wanted the responsibility. He didn’t know if he knew how. He’d never been allowed to be a kid. How would he know how to raise one?

But seeing how happy Bucky was around kids was making him reconsider the entire thing. And he had been happy when the woman had thought he was a dad. Steve made a mental note to talk to Bucky about it later. They’d figure it out.

It was eight on the dot when there was a knock on the door. Steve pulled away from experimenting on the tablet Natasha had given him on his birthday. After a long hiatus, he’d just figured out how to mix colors again. While he still preferred creating on paper, he had to admit it was nice not needing to mix his paints himself.

“So the old man was able to figure out technology,” Nat said, leaning over the back of the couch. Steve quickly saved and clicked the tablet off. Natasha chuckled.

It wasn’t long after that Sam arrived. Steve and Natasha grinned at the ‘fuck you’ that came from the entry way. It really was lovely when the four of them got together. Sam did a little dance when he entered the living room. A balled up piece of paper hit him in the back of the head. Bucky whistled from where he worked in the kitchen. The three of them talked until Bucky told them dinner was ready.

-

“I bet you’re all wondering why I’ve gathered us here tonight.”

They all sat at the dining table, the feast of corned beef, potatoes, carrots and cabbage spread before them. Natasha had brought vodka and had poured them all shots. For the moment, they sat untouched.

“At this point, I don’t even ask,” Sam said, his hand inching towards his glass. Natasha swatted his hand away.

“Yes, we’re all dying to know,” she said, with a glare at Sam.

Bucky nodded at her in thanks. “When I was indisposed-”

“With stupidity or something else?” Steve kicked Sam under the table at the same time Natasha did. He swore.

“When I was indisposed,” Bucky said louder, “Steve and I missed the celebration of the New Year. I decided we still needed to celebrate, and you helped make the year what it was.”

“So what’s with the corned beef and cabbage?” Sam asked.

“It’s what we always had,” Steve answered. “My ma always said it was important to follow our traditions, even if we weren’t in Ireland, and her parents always made it to celebrate the new year.”

“What else did you do?” Natasha asked, filling her plate. Sam was already eating.

“_Ragaireacht._” Steve loved how easy it was to slip into Irish. Sam and Natasha narrowed their eyes slightly. Steve took a sip of his water. “You know those nights when you’re with family or friends or someone you love and you start talking, and then the next thing you know it’s the next morning?” They nodded. “That’s _ragaireacht_.”

He took a bite of corned beef and was immediately back in the cramped kitchen with his ma. It had never been his favorite food, but it was always something he could expect. And as always, Bucky’s recreation was exquisite. He hooked his ankle around Bucky’s.

“We talked about what was good, told stories, made each other laugh,” Bucky continued. His eyes found Steve’s. “We never knew which year was going to be Steve’s last, so we tried to make everything count. New Year’s was our way of celebrating life.”

There was a moment of silence before Natasha lifted her glass. “To life.”

“To life.”

The vodka burned on the way down.

-

“Wait, so you’re telling me that Steve actually tried to climb a tree when he was drunk?” Sam threw his head back and cackled.

They were in the living room now. Steve and Bucky sat against the couch, Eva and Aapeli’s heads resting on their laps. Alpine, as always, had curled herself on Bucky’s shoulder. Sam and Natasha also sat on the floor.

“I can’t believe you’re telling them this story.” Steve dropped his face in his hands and rubbed his eyes until he saw fireworks.

“What! It doesn’t involve you getting punched. You just got stuck in a tree.”

“I suppose this is another way for you to get back at me from this morning?”

Bucky kissed his cheek.

“How old was he?” Natasha looked on gleefully.

“I was sixteen.”

Sam looked like someone just told him Christmas was coming early. “So you’re telling me that Steven Rogers ignored the drinking age, got drunk, challenged someone to a tree climbing competition, and then got stuck.”

Steve sighed. “I think we’ve already established that I was rather stupid as a kid.”

“How did you get down?” Natasha asked.

“I had to climb up after him,” Bucky told her.

“Oh, I wish I could’ve seen that. That must have been entertaining as hell.” Sam had rolled onto his stomach.

Bucky grinned. Steve immediately covered his mouth. “Don’t you dare, Buck.”

Bucky peeled Steve’s hand away and spoke before Steve could prevent him again. “It was in the paper.”

Natasha looked like she’d just been given a winning lottery ticket.

“Why don’t we ever tell stories about you? Why are they always about me?” Steve grumbled.

“Because when you’re friends with you, Steve, the stupid shit you do always outshines everybody else’s stupid shit.”

Steve knew he couldn’t dispute that, but he was going to try. “What about the time you threw your shoe at someone only to have it end up in the river?”

“That was you, Steve.”

There was a pause. “Oh, yeah.” He bit the inside of his cheek. “What about-wait, no, that was me, too.”

“Were you thinking about the time you tried to cook potatoes?”

“No, I was thinking about the time I tried to make cookies.”

Natasha and Sam looked on, amused expressions on their face. If Steve was being honest, he forgot they were there.

“Didn’t you make a pot of noodles and end up dumping the entire thing in the sink when you were trying to drain them?”

Bucky’s tongue stopped between his lips. “I think I did. We went to bed hungry that night.”

“We went to bed hungry almost every night.” Steve was just proud he was able to think of something stupid that hadn’t been done by him.

“But you survived.” Bucky’s arm snaked around his waist and pulled him closer before pressing a kiss to the side of his head. Steve couldn’t help the smile that crossed his face. He knew without a doubt his ma would’ve loved this.

“You two are disgustingly domestic,” Sam said, pulling Steve out of him moment of bliss.

“Just because no one loves you, Bird, doesn’t mean you get to shit on other people’s relationships,” Bucky replied, now kissing Steve’s cheek.

“Everyone loves me, man. That doesn’t mean I have to like PDA.”

“Go eat your cool whip,” Bucky told him, flipping him the bird and kissing Steve’s lips. Steve had absolutely no problem with this.

“I will go eat my cool whip. Cool whip at least doesn’t assault you with public displays of affection.”

“No, it just assaults your mouth.”

“Natasha, will you please help me in dishing up the pie?”

Natasha rolled her eyes but followed Sam into the kitchen. They could just hear their murmured conversation.

“You’re never this open with affection when they’re here,” Steve murmured. “What’s up?”

“Knowing it irks the Bird makes it much more appealing.” Steve rolled his eyes and Bucky smiled. “Do I need any reason more than it makes me happy?”

Steve’s reply was cut off by this exchange from the kitchen:

“Oh, you’re going to regret that, Sam.”

“Undoubtedly.”

Sam and Natasha entered the living room again, each holding two plates. Natasha handed Steve one with a respectable squirt of reddi-wip atop his apple pie. The plate Sam gave Bucky had only cool whip. If Steve had to guess, the entire container had been emptied.

Bucky’s eyes deadened. A smile stretched his mouth thin. He blinked slowly. He looked between his plate and Sam, who watched Bucky while taking a bite of his pie which was smothered in reddi-wip. He blinked again. Before Steve realized what was going to happen and take the proper measures to stop it, the plate had been thrown. It stuck to Sam’s face before slowly sliding off and landing on the carpet with a soft _plop_. Eva and Aapeli immediately got up to help clean.

“I don’t want your cool whip.”

“You brought that upon yourself, Sam. I warned you.” Natasha looked like she was trying not to laugh.

“I know.”

It was said with such a disappointed tone. Steve barely managed to get his pie onto the couch before dissolving into laughter. He fell sideways onto Bucky’s lap, his right hand gripping his chest. Natasha and Bucky joined in. It wasn’t long before Steve couldn’t breathe.

Sam left the living room. They heard the faucet running and Sam muttering. When Sam returned, the front of his shirt was wet, which only caused Steve to laugh harder. Bucky laughed so hard his laugh became silent.

“I hate you all.”

It was Natasha who was able to answer. “Sam, you can’t blame anyone but yourself for that.”

It took a while, but Steve eventually managed to stop laughing enough for him to sit up and help clean the carpet, and they were able to continue their circle of stories. Natasha regaled them all with one about Clint offering coffee to a new intern at the Tower and then giving her the pot he always used because he forgot people used mugs and didn’t drink coffee by the pot. No one was surprised. Sam offered a story about reconnecting with Riley’s parents that had Steve tearing up.

“Okay, best memory of the year,” Natasha said, handing them another shot of vodka.

“Christmas,” Sam said immediately. He looked over to where they were sitting. Bucky’s arm was around Steve’s waist again, Steve’s head on his shoulder. “I was happy to see you two finally figured out your feelings for the other.”

“Thanks, Wilson.” Bucky kissed Steve again.

“Just because I’m happy for you does _not_ mean I’m okay with the PDA.”

Steve stood up at the same time as Bucky. They both walked over to Sam and pressed a big kiss to his cheek. He beat them off. Natasha smirked before returning to look thoughtful.

“It was when you were in Ireland, Steve,” she started after the two of them sat down again. “I found Bucky sitting in a cathedral and we talked. He apologized for what he was forced to do in the Red Room. I didn’t know how much I needed that until it came.”

She looked at Bucky, the smallest smile lifting the left corner of her lips. Bucky gave a small nod in return.

“Yellow frosting.” Bucky looked directly at Steve for this. Steve knew it was more than just the cupcake. It was everything surrounding it, the talk, the deep understanding that both of them were still healing and they were going to make mistakes and it was okay.

“Steve?” Natasha prompted.

There were a lot of memories Steve could offer. Getting this house and moving in with Bucky again. Having stability for the first time in his life. Finding a therapist he trusted. Finally starting to let go of things he’d carried for his entire life. Getting Eva (he scratched her ears at this point). Going to Ireland. Starting to really figure out who he was. Telling Bucky his feelings and really starting the life he wanted with him.

“Today,” he decided.

“That’s not 2016, Steve,” Sam said.

“No, it’s fine,” Bucky said quickly. “Go on.”

“Not much to it,” he murmured, threading his fingers through Bucky’s. “Just seeing how happy you were. I haven’t seen you like that in a long time.” He brought Bucky’s fingers to his lips.

Sam sighed heavily but wisely said nothing.

Natasha lifted her glass. “To the good memories, that they may follow us to the new year.”

They all lifted in turn and drank as one. 

***

Sam and Natasha left after midnight. It took a lot of convincing to get Steve to move from where he’d curled on the couch and get ready for bed. He’d only agreed after eliciting a promise for a back massage. Bucky had grinned before Steve interjected with a note that his spine was off limit. There was only so much of it he could take.

Steve asked for a few minutes alone and closed the door to the bathroom. Bucky returned to their room, sat on their bed and grabbed Frank from the window sill. He was Bucky’s favorite, not that he would say that in front of all the others. But in his heart, he knew Frank knew.

With his other hand, he reached into his pocket and took out the clicker. He still carried it everywhere, even if there were days he forgot to use it. Occasionally, he found himself clicking it without conscious thought. He clicked it for the last hour of conversation. The sound itself had become a comfort.

“Seventeen, Frank, buddy, old pal. That’s what the clicker says today. More than I expected, certainly, considering the way the morning started. But even that wasn’t bad. The walk was nice, all those stars. I decided that when the weather’s warmer, I’m going to take Steve out into a field in the middle of nowhere and lay out a blanket. I think he’d like that. He’s always talking about wanting to see more of the stars.”

Bucky continued talking, switching topics when he switched which cactus he held in his hands. He tried to do it every night when Steve took his time alone in the bathroom. It was nice sometimes to confide in someone that couldn’t talk back. He still journaled, but he didn’t always like the permanence of the words. Some of the things he wrote months ago shamed him. With his plants, nothing mattered. He could just talk.

“You’re going to make a good dad one day.” Steve stood in the doorway, his head resting against the door frame. His eyes crinkled with his smile. He was shirtless.

“I am, aren’t I?” He was surprised he actually let himself admit it. Actually, no. He wasn’t. This was something that preceded the Soldier. He was allowed to feel confident in it.

Bucky put Maggie back on the window sill as Steve got into bed, lying facedown. Just like this morning, Bucky sat on his butt and slid his hands over his back, doing his best to ignore the scar tissue that was his fault. Steve relaxed under his touch.

“What did you choose to love today?” Bucky asked as he worked a knot in Steve’s shoulders.

“My hands. I spent a long time in Ireland hating them, wondering if my ma would be able to recognize them. But they’re the same. I have the same scar from when I split my knuckles punching that asshole John-”

“Was that the time he asked you if pretending to be a superhero made you feel better about your failings in life?”

“No, that was the time he told me my art would be better without my main subject.”

“Ah.”

“I mean, they might be bigger, but they’re the same. They’re the same hands that helped my ma bake bread. They’re the same hands that learned how to draw and paint. It feels unfair to hate them when all they did was get bigger.”

Bucky paused from where he was kneading his lower back. “Why can you easily say that about individual parts of yourself but still hate the whole picture?”

He hated that Steve couldn’t see how beautiful he was.

“Who said it was easy? But if I start slowly, maybe I can work my way up to the bigger picture.” 

Bucky got off him and made him sit up. “Why do you hate yourself, Steve?”

“Can we not talk about this?”

“Steve.”

“Bucky.”

“I just want to understand it, Steve. I want to be able to help.”

Steve bit the corner of his cheek. A furrow appeared between his brows. He sighed and shook his head. He muttered something to himself and shook his head again. “They’ve started erasing my disabilities.”

“What?”

“Textbooks, articles. Each new one I read, they completely erase something else. The newest article from the _Sun _completely ignored the fact that I had rheumatic and scarlet fever. I’ve read others saying I should be ashamed of myself for speaking up for the disabled when there’s no way I would know what struggles they face.”

“Steve.” Bucky reached out for Steve’s hands, the ones he’d just come to accept and love, but he pulled them away. He didn’t even know if Steve heard him; his gaze was vacant.

“My entire life, I had to face people saying I shouldn’t be allowed to live because of everything wrong with me. I didn’t just agree to the serum because I wanted to serve my country. I wanted people to stop looking at me like I was a failure. When I came out of the machine, everything changed. I could run without having to fear an asthma attack; I could stand straight; I could hear; I could see colors I’d only heard about. I was perfect.

"I can’t help but think that the reason they feel enabled to erase a big part of my life is because of this body, and I can’t help but think I allowed it. I allowed Erskine to put a chronically ill, disabled man in the machine, and they got a genetically engineered super-soldier out. I unwittingly became the face of something I’d spent my entire life fighting against. So please forgive me if it takes a while for me to come to terms with that.”

He got out of bed and left the room. Eva raised her head from where she slept on the floor. Bucky debated going after him, but before he could decide, Steve returned, pulling a long-sleeve shirt over his head. He got back into bed and curled on his side, facing away from Bucky. Bucky laid on his back, staring up at the ceiling. What felt like an hour passed before he was able to ask the question he wanted to.

“Are they the reason you think you can’t be a dad?”

He never got an answer.

Mind racing and circling around itself, Bucky knew it would be impossible for him to fall asleep. He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, feet on the floor, heels of his palm pressed against his eyes. When he made to stand, a hand grabbed his arm.

“Stay, please?”

So Bucky laid back down. Steve rested his head over his heart. And while Bucky never did fall asleep that night, his mind at least quieted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The museum they go to is the New York Hall of Science in Queens. The exhibit Bucky becomes a child in is Connected Worlds, with a few added liberties. I don't think you can create simulations and basically save the world.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valentine's Day. Or, in which Steve makes a fool of himself by dancing alone.

Steve stopped in front of the windows overlooking the garden. The sun felt warm for the first time since October. It was a welcome change from the frosty grey they’d had for the first two weeks of February. Maybe he’d take his bike today; it had been far too long since he’d ridden it. While the car was nice because it allowed him to bring Eva, he missed the freedom his bike allowed. 

The story of him learning to ride still made Bucky cringe. Steve couldn’t blame him. When someone had handed him the keys to a bike in his early days of the war and expected him to know how to ride it, he hadn’t been about to tell them otherwise. Besides, he’d always wanted to learn and had always been better at learning on the spot. In hindsight, that hadn’t been the smartest idea he’d ever had. It was miraculous the bike was the only one hurt. Steve still hadn’t told anyone the bike had been damaged long before he’d been attacked. And then the illusion that he knew how to ride had been created. He hadn’t been able to back out.

The first time Bucky had seen him on a bike (Steve had been pretty okay at that point. Okay. That was a lie. He’d still been terrible, but at least could manage a few hundred feet without a wobble and that was progress), he’d nearly lost his mind. By the time he’d finished with his tirade (much to the amusement of the Howlies), Steve would’ve much rather been in a crash. Although, then the tirade would’ve been worse and he’d have had injuries to deal with on top of Bucky’s (righteous) anger. 

After that, down time became training. Between learning how to throw the shield, Bucky taught him how to properly ride a bike. The first time he’d made it to his destination without a near crash had been the cause for quite the celebration. If Steve had been able to get drunk, he most likely would’ve. 

Those had been the days. Nothing to worry about but what was right in front of him. If Steve could get even a semblance of that back, he would be very happy. 

He was pulled from his thoughts by Bucky putting his arms around his waist and resting his chin on his shoulders. Steve hummed happily. If this was all he got, he guessed it would be okay. 

“Think this means spring’s coming?” Bucky asked. 

Steve held Bucky’s arms. “Given that it’s only February? Doubtful.” 

Bucky sighed. “Sad. I’m ready for my garden again. I miss being with my flowers.” 

“I do too. It makes for such good arting material.” As soon as he said it, he regretted it. He could almost feel the face Bucky gave him. Judging. Amused. Unsurprised. 

“Steve, did you just say ‘arting’?” 

Steve looked down and muttered, “maybe.” 

“We need to get you back to school. Is it too late for you to start this spring?” 

Steve turned so Bucky’s hands rested on the small of his back. Bucky’s eyes gleamed with humor. “Technically, I’ve gone through more schooling than you, Buck.” 

“You went to Auburn for three months, Steve.” 

Steve raised his eyebrows. “Therefore, I’m three months smarter than you.” 

Bucky sighed and shook his head. “I fell in love with an idiot.” 

Steve grinned. “What does that make you?”

Bucky groaned, dropped his head onto Steve’s shoulder and then tried to pull away. Steve held him in place, not wanting this moment to end. He puckered his lips. Bucky rolled his eyes but kissed him. Happy, Steve released him. He headed to the kitchen. 

“You have an appointment this afternoon?” he asked, grabbing a glass from the cupboard. 

Steve leaned against the counter, watching him. “Yeah., I’m heading out in a few. Thinking about taking my bike rather than the car.” 

Bucky turned to face him, his brows furrowed. “No Eva? Are you sure that’s a good idea?” 

“I’ve gone to more sessions without her than with,” he pointed out. “I think I’ll be okay.” 

Bucky nodded, apparently satisfied with his answer. He hoped he was right. “Remember that I’m making dinner tonight,” he called as Steve pushed away from the counter and headed towards the door. 

“You make dinner every night.” He looked back to see Bucky giving him the look Steve had dubbed the _ disappointed but not surprised _. 

“You’re hilarious, Steve. Truly. You should’ve gone to the Auburn School for Comedy rather than art. Would’ve suited you better.” 

Steve frowned. “That doesn’t exist.” 

“Just like your humor.” 

Steve nodded to himself and started to put on his boots. He knew better than to rise to the bait. He might have quite the mouth on him, but Bucky had been the only one able to beat him at his own game. The two of them together had been quite formidable and entertaining to watch. Get them going and their adversary was quickly sorry they had ever started anything. 

“You didn’t actually forget, did you?” Bucky’s grin had slid from his face.

Steve finished lacing his boots and walked back into the kitchen. “Of course I didn’t forget, Buck. I’ll be home in plenty of time, I promise. Is there anything you need me to pick up on my way back?” 

The grin was back. “A better sense of humor.” 

Steve rolled his eyes and kissed his cheek. “I should be back around three, barring anything horrible happens in my session. Love you.” 

He started back for the front door, but didn’t make it far before Bucky’s hand slipped into his back pocket and skillfully spun him into his chest. A sinful smile lifted Bucky’s lips as he gave Steve’s butt a light squeeze. 

“You’re insufferable,” Steve said, doing nothing to escape the arm that trapped him. “Absolutely terrible.” 

“And you’re sexy as hell,” Bucky replied, peppering his jaw with kisses. 

Steve groaned. “I have to go, Buck.” 

“Boo. You ruin all my fun.” He kissed Steve’s lips and let the arm around his waist drop. The hand in his back pocket stayed a moment longer; he gave another squeeze before finally removing it. Steve pecked another kiss to his lips. As he walked back to the door to put on his jacket, Bucky leaned against the wall. 

“Hate to see you go, but the view sure does make it worthwhile.” 

Steve grabbed his keys, flipped Bucky the bird, and opened the door. He heard Bucky chuckling to himself before the door clicked shut behind him. 

“No Eva today?” Dr. Scheinbaum asked as she shut the door and followed Steve to the couches. 

Steve shrugged and sat. “I wanted to take my bike,” he said as way of explanation. “The sun was warm. I wanted to take advantage.” 

The ride over had been magnificent. Bright sunlight had showered him the entire time. When he’d reached the office, he’d been almost hot. 

“You know there are mechanisms that would allow you to bring Eva on your bike with you.” 

Steve nodded. “I know. I’ve looked into it a little bit.” That was a lie. He hadn’t known. He didn’t know if he would look into them. He looked past her, to the shelves of books and plants. The amount of greenery was the first reason he’d liked her more than his past therapists. “Did Bucky ever finish naming all of them?” 

“Steve.” 

“I know he wanted to finish. It makes him feel better when everything around him has a name. He likes to greet them, work his memory a bit. You should’ve seen him when we first got the house, running around like a madman trying to name everything he could the first night.” 

“Steve.” It was more forceful this time. 

“I should see if he remembers what he named our sink.” He bit the inside of his cheek. “Harvey? Harold? Something like that, I think.” 

“Steve, she’s good for you here.” 

He finally looked back to her, his stomach churning. He didn’t want to admit that he’d made a mistake in not bringing her. “I’m fine, I promise.” 

“You sure about that?” She nodded to his hands. Steve hadn’t noticed he’d picked up one of the pillows, let alone start to worry a hole in the fabric. Or maybe it had been there before and he’d just made it worse. 

Steve sighed. “How many pillows do I owe you now?” 

“I’m not worried about my pillows, Steve. We’ve talked about this. You can’t run from everything. Even you’re going to get tired eventually.” 

Steve flipped the pillow to ignore the stuffing that had begun poking from the hole. Deftly, he started scratching at the fabric. He set the pillow aside and sat on his hands. “This was my attempt to stop running.” He said it just to say it, but hearing it, he realized it was true. 

His hands itched to do something. He’d never realized how much he’d relied on Eva to keep them busy. 

“Explain that.” 

“It made more sense in my head.” Again, he said it just to say it but found it to be true. It was stupid now that he actually thought about it. 

“There’s no such thing as stupid here, Steve.” That had been one of the first things they’d come to a consensus on. But even with that, it had taken a long time for him to feel comfortable talking without fear of judgment. 

He gave up trying to keep his hands still and let them worry the pillow again. He’d buy her new ones. “I know getting a dog was my idea,” he finally started, “but... I don’t know. I feel like I can’t be independent anymore. There are times where all I can think about is what if I’m out without her and something happens to me? I’m helpless. People will look at me the way they did before. But if I go out with her and she has her vest on and something happens and she helps me, then all people will see is a man who’s damaged.” 

“There’s no shame in needing help, Steve.” 

He ignored her. “I thought that if I could make it through one session without her that it would mean I’m getting better.” He looked at the pillow. The hole had gotten much bigger. “Obviously I was wrong.” 

He wanted to prove that he could do something by himself. But who was he kidding? He’d never been able to do anything by himself. His entire life, he’d depended on someone else to pick him up when he fell. 

“Why do you feel like you need to prove yourself, Steve?” 

Steve looked up at her. He hated how she could be so calm while he sat in turmoil. “You know why.” 

“I need you to say it. That’s the only way we’re going to get anywhere.”

“It’s what I’ve always had to do.” 

“You’re looking for normalcy, that’s understandable. 

Steve looked down at his lap. The full weight of what he was really doing crashed over him. Of course, it made so much sense now. It shouldn’t have taken him this long to realize. It was what he’d always done. 

“No. I’m self-sabotaging.” 

She opened her portfolio and uncapped her pen. 

Steve took a deep breath and told her everything he’d told Bucky over a month ago. How articles had slowly been erasing his disabilities (there had been another one recently, debating whether he’d really been sick or had just been acting like it for the chance to be Captain America). How he’d been disparaged for speaking out in the disabled community. “I guess subconsciously I was thinking that if I was alone and something happened to me, they would at least know I’m not okay and that maybe that would make me feel better about what they’re saying about me.” 

“Why do you care so much about what people say about you?” 

Steve shrugged. 

“How are your hands?” 

Steve immediately tucked them under his thighs. “I’m trying.” 

“Steve, I would much rather you ruin my pillows than yourself.” 

“I know. It’s just hard sometimes; half the time I don’t even realize I’m doing it.” He’d told her all about his challenges with accepting his body. It was her that had suggested standing in the mirror and finding just one thing about himself that he liked. 

“There are days when everything is fine and I don’t even think about my body. I’m able to choose something I like no problem. The fact that I’m able to do what I want without needing to worry is more than enough. But then there are days where I can’t stand the sight of myself.”

Without thinking, he pulled at the chain around his neck, twisting his ma’s ring between his fingers. He’d put in on a chain after Bucky had found it and wore it almost every day. “And then I think about what my ma would say if I could tell her all this stuff. I know she’d be horrified. She’d tell me that it’s my heart that matters and that my body just finally caught up with its abnormally large size.” 

“And what do you say to that?” 

“She’s right, as always.” He breathed a laugh, even though there wasn’t anything remotely funny about the situation. “I can’t change what people think of me. I can’t change what’s happened. I couldn’t change my answer; I’d still become Captain America. I should just stop being stupid.” 

She leaned forward. “Steve, it’s okay to let things get to you. If people took away something as integral to me as what they’re trying to take from you, I’d be mad too. I’d be confused. Hell, I’d probably question my entire life.” 

Steve made a face that she didn’t miss. 

“What, do you think that just because this is my job that I don’t have insecurities of my own?” 

Steve just shrugged, embarrassed. 

She leaned forward, propping her elbows on her knees. “You’ll always have those experiences, Steve. No matter what happens, no matter what people say, no one can take them away from you.” 

Steve allowed the words to sink in. “Bucky wants to be a dad,” he said in response. He didn’t know what else to say. 

Dr. Scheinbaum smiled. Steve imagined Bucky had told her all about his desire. “And what about you? Is this going to be your next step together?” 

“Not next, no,” Steve said with a small laugh. “It’s actually one of the things that got me into this whole funk.” He twirled the ring in his fingers and allowed his gaze to unfocus. “Growing up with eugenics, you think about yourself a lot. Add being as sick as I was, and it doesn’t ever stop. It’s just a constant cycle running through your head. I heard a lot of things when I was young. The two biggest being that someone should do everyone a favor and kill me, and that I shouldn’t ever be allowed to have kids. So I never let myself think about it. Plus, I never thought I’d live long enough to reach that stage in my life, even if I’d found someone willing to look past everything else. 

“And then, on January 6th, I decided to bring Bucky to the science museum. He took me to an art museum, so I figured it only fair to return the favor. There was an interactive exhibit that he did with a bunch of kids. It looked so natural for him to be with them. Later, he told me that he wanted to be a dad.” 

“What did you say?” 

“That I didn’t know, which is true. And then I started thinking, what if I did have a kid? Naturally, I mean. Would my kid be as sick as I was? Would it be irresponsible on my part to bring a kid into this world only to have them suffer as I did?” 

“Medicine has come a long way since the 1920s. If this is what you want, you shouldn’t let fear stop you.” 

“I know. And I don’t even know if it’s a valid worry. I don’t know how deep the serum worked. There’s so much I wish I could ask Erskine...” he trailed off and shook his head. “But it’s made me think a lot about myself, about the parts of me that I don’t like and everything I could pass down to my child.” 

“What about the best parts of you? Your kindness, your heart, your loyalty? Steve, I know it must be hard to look in the mirror and not always like what you see—you have a good reason; I can’t even imagine how hard it was-is- to reconcile yourself with how you used to be, but there are more important things.” 

Steve looked at his lap as she spoke. He knew she was right. He did, really. And he wanted to believe it. His ma was right, too. Only his body had changed, nothing else. He was still the punk-ass kid who got into too many fights because he cared too much. 

“But they were right, too,” he said, more to himself than anyone else. “Almost every time I look in the mirror, I hear their words. I don’t know if I can just put all of that aside and forget it.” He dropped his head, running his fingers through his hair. “But this is something Bucky really wants. He’s resigned himself to it never happening, but he’s already sacrificed so much because of his past. I don’t want to be the reason he doesn’t get this.” 

“But you’re scared.” 

Steve nodded, miserable. Everything had been so much simpler before they’d gone to the museum. He’d been making progress on himself. 

She pursed her lips for a minute, thinking. “Tell me the absolute worst thing that could happen if you ignored your fear and let this happen.” 

“The kid would remind me of everything I’d ever been told and I’d end up hating it. I’d hate Bucky for wanting a kid. And I’d hate myself for letting it happen in the first place.” He’d given it a lot of thought. 

“Talk to Bucky about this, Steve. Let him know all of this.” 

“How do I tell him I’m scared of the thing he wants more than anything? He’ll give it up if I tell him. I don’t want him to lose this dream. Not when he’s already lost so much.” 

“You need to talk to him about this.” 

Steve shook his head. “I’m just being stupid. I’ll figure it out.” 

“This isn’t stupid, Steve. I wish you would stop saying that. Everything you feel is valid, and I can understand your reasoning. Fatherhood is a big step and it’s not for everyone. I just want you to make sure that your decision is one-hundred percent you and not the voice of someone else. Talk to Bucky. Let him know how you feel. It’ll make everything easier in the end.” 

Steve nodded, staring at the pillow. Not for the first time, he wished he’d brought Eva. It took most of his willpower to not pick at his thumbs. 

“Steve.” Her voice was gentle. “If my word means anything, I think you’d make a pretty great dad.” 

He tried to smile. “Thanks.” 

Dr. Scheinbaum patted her thighs, stood, and walked over to her bookshelf. When she returned, she held a small book. “I want you to have this.” 

Steve took it, smoothing the cover with his right hand. _ The Boy, the Mole, the Fox, and The Horse _. 

“It’s my favorite book,” she told him as he stared at it. “I think it’ll help you both.” 

Steve stood, holding it close to his chest. “Thank you.” 

She followed him to the door. “I expect to see Eva here next time.” 

This time, he really did smile. “She’ll be here. And I’ll have pillows to replace the ones I’ve ruined. How many do I owe you?” 

“Don’t worry about the pillows.” 

It didn’t matter what she said. Next time, Steve was bringing pillows. 

***

Bucky stared at the closed door for a moment longer before setting to work. There was no reason for him to start as early as he was, but he wanted to. Doing something simply because he wanted to was something he was trying to do more of. 

If Steve followed his regular routine of going for both a walk and a drive after his session, Bucky had the house to himself for just over three hours. While checking to make sure Eva and Aapeli were still on the couch and Alpine still slept on Steve’s bed, he made a mental list in his head. When he was satisfied, he turned on his music and went into their room. Stripping the bed was quick work as Steve hadn’t made it that morning. After a moment of thought, he opened their window a crack. 

One of his favorite songs came on and he sang along loudly as he put the sheets in the washer and started to sweep the kitchen. Before long, he’d vacuumed the living room and dusted every surface that could even think about having a speck of dust. The laundry had finished by the time the living room was spotless. Still singing, he threw the sheets in the dryer and put their clothes in the wash. They barely had their own closets anymore; there were only a few select sweaters he wasn’t allowed to wear. 

Happy with his progress, Bucky moved into the kitchen to start preparing dinner. This time, he was making one of _ his _ favorites. It had been too long since he’d had a good plate of stroganoff. 

He’d just finished wrapping his pasta dough in plastic wrap when there was a knock on the door. Frowning to himself, he dusted the cloud of his hands the best he could and turned off his music, looking at his watch in the meantime. It was barely after two. Even if Steve forgot his keys, it was too early for him to be home and he didn’t think they’d been expecting guests. There was nothing on the calendar at least. Maybe their mail had gotten mixed up? Katie stood on the doorstep, looking slightly awkward with a shoebox in hand. 

“Katie!” 

“Is this a bad time?” She looked to his apron, which Bucky had forgotten he was wearing. He dusted it off, but the patches of white remained. 

“Not at all. The dough needs to rest before I can do anything else.” It was then that he noticed the head peering out from behind her. Smiling, he crouched down. “Hey, Nicholas.” 

The six-year-old extracted more of himself from behind his sister. “You remember me?” he asked, voice full of awe. 

“Of course I remember you! How could I forget one of the kindest, bravest people I’ve ever met?” 

Nicholas looked down before looking back up at him shyly. “I’ve been doing my best, I promise.” He took a step closer and looked back at his sister before giving Bucky his full attention. Bucky leaned forward when he put up a hand to shield his mouth from Katie. “I even let my Captain America bear lead some missions so Bucky Bear could have a break,” he whispered. 

Bucky chuckled. “That’s the bravest thing I’ve heard anyone do in a long time.” Nicholas glowed. Bucky stood and looked back at Katie. “You want to come in? Steve’s not here, but he should be soon.” 

Katie said, “if it’s not too much trouble,” at the same time Nicholas yelled, “I could meet Captain America for real?” 

Bucky nodded, answering both of them. Nicholas cheered and ran forward when Bucky stood aside for them. He elected to forego removing his shoes in favor of more quickly seeing where Captain America and Bucky Barnes lived. 

“Nicholas, come here,” Katie called. He ran up to her, eyes gleaming. “Shoes.” 

He looked over to Bucky, who nodded. Without losing his smile, he kicked them off (leaving them in the middle of the kitchen) and ran back to the living room. Katie put them beside her own and took off her jacket, still carrying the box. Bucky was about to ask about it when there was an enormous gasp. 

“You have dogs!?” 

Katie looked over to Bucky and grinned in apology. They walked over together to find Nicholas standing by the coffee table, staring at the couch. Aapeli rested her chin on the armrest, staring up at him with big eyes. She grumbled and wagged her tail, hitting Eva in the process. Nicholas looked up at Bucky. 

“Mama says I haveta ask before petting someone else’s dog ‘cuz they might not like getting petted. Can I pet your dog, Mr. Bucky?” 

“Your ma is one smart lady,” Bucky told him. “It is good to ask. Lucky for you, Aapeli here loves getting attention, especially when she’s not working.” As if to make his point, she grumbled again, louder this time, and thumped her tail. “Hold your hand out flat so she can catch your scent.” 

He held out his own in demonstration and ruffled her ears. Nicholas followed his instructions, carefully stretching his hand out. Aapeli sniffed it once and promptly licked it. He squealed happily and immediately started scratching her head. Her tongue lolled out and her eyes closed in apparent bliss. 

Bucky rolled his eyes. “I know, you get zero attention here.” As if to once again prove his point, she rolled onto her back, allowing Nicholas to have access to her belly. 

“I’ve seen dogs that wear clothes telling people not to touch ‘cuz they’re working, but sometimes if I ask real nice I’m allowed to give them a pat. I always tell them they’re doing a great job. Does your dog wear clothes?” 

Bucky nodded. “Sometimes. If I’m going out somewhere and want to bring her with me, she wears a vest that lets everyone know that it’s okay for her to be there.” 

Nicholas looked up from her for a second, as if to judge if his question was okay to ask. “Why does she need to go places with you? Do you get scared? I do sometimes, ‘specially if I go to look at something cool and then can’t find mama or Katie.” 

When he’d started talking, Bucky had looked to Katie for help. When he’d kept talking, he’d waved her down. Nicholas had very aptly summarized everything. He smiled softly. “Yeah, I do get scared sometimes and that can be hard. My baby girl is trained to help me if it gets to be too much.” 

“What does she do?” 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Katie looking at him. He waved her down again. Surprisingly, he was fine with the questions. Nicholas played with Aapeli’s ears, holding them upright and whispering ‘bunny’. Bucky would never admit that he often did the same thing. 

“She helps me stay calm in scary situations. Sometimes I lose track of time or get confused, and she helps make sure I stay safe.” 

Talking about it like this made it seem simple. He could do simple.

“Do you think mama would let me get a dog like Mr. Bucky’s? Maybe it would help me not to be so scared.” He looked up at his sister, eyes hopeful. 

Katie reached out to ruffle his hair. “Sorry, bud, but Mr. Bucky’s dog is a special kind of dog.” 

“But I gots an arm just like him! And I get scared just like him and I really, really, really, really want one.” He stuck out his lip in a pout, reminding Bucky vividly of Steve; he got the same way when he wanted something. Bucky was incredibly glad he didn’t have to deal with the aftermath; he’d cave in minutes with eyes like those. 

“You do have an arm like me,” he said, hoping the idea he’d just had would help distract him. He rolled up his sleep to make it more visible. “And this helps me to be brave when I don’t have Aapeli with me.” 

“Really?”

“Really.” He didn’t know what made him say it, but there was no going back now. “My arm was made special for me by a really smart princess. When she was making it, she asked me if there were any special features I wanted in it. I told her no; I just wanted it to be like a regular arm.” This much at least was true. “It wasn’t until later she told me that she did put something in.” 

“What?” Nicholas was hanging onto every word. Even Katie looked intrigued with what he was coming up with to appease her brother. Bucky was incredibly proud of himself for coming up with all of this. 

“Brave Powder.” He paused for dramatic effect. And to figure out what to say next. But mostly for effect. “She sprinkled it all over, see? That’s why there are all these gold lines.” 

That was why there were all those gold lines. 

Nicholas reached out and traced one of them before extending his own hand. His palm was pure silver. His face fell. 

“I don’t have any Brave Powder.” 

Bucky thought fast. “That’s because they knew you’d be so brave on your own that you didn’t need any. You actually helped the manufacturers out. Brave Powder is super rare, you see.” 

Nicholas looked back at Bucky’s hand. “You must get really, really scared sometimes if you needed that much,” he said softly. 

Bucky nodded. “I do. That’s why I have my baby girl. She helps me, just like I know your sister and ma help you. Even the bravest people need some help occasionally.” 

“Does Captain America help you, too?” 

Bucky smiled. “Yeah. Captain America does help me.” 

Nicholas looked back at his hand and made a fist. Bucky made a decision. 

“You know, the really cool princess who made my arm gave me some extra Brave Powder. I was saving it for a rainy day, but now that I have Aapeli, I feel confident that I won’t need it. I’d like to give it to you, if that’s okay with you.” 

Nicholas looked up to Katie, who’d watched the entire exchange with a small smile. She nodded and then he nodded almost shyly. Bucky stood and walked into Steve’s room. There had to be something in his art supplies that he could tout as Brave Powder. His desk nearly overflowed with supplies. 

He considered a bag of gold glitter before putting it back. Katie probably wouldn’t appreciate him giving a six-year-old what Steve called ‘the bane of every artist’. He finally found a small bag of gold paint powder. This would at least let him be artistic about it. Grabbing a sharpie, Bucky wrote BRAVE POWDER on the label. Before leaving, he gave Alpine a rub and grabbed Steve’s Bucky Bear. Now that they slept together, he rarely used it. Bucky doubted he would mind Nicholas borrowing him for a while. 

Katie was petting Aapeli when he returned. Nicholas immediately ran up to him. Bucky held the bag out but didn’t allow him to take it. 

“Now this stuff is potent,” he warned, crouching down again. “If I give this to you, I need you to promise me you’ll be careful and only use it in absolute emergencies. If you need it, just mix with a little bit of water and make whatever design you want on your arm. You’ll be able to get through anything.” 

His eyes were wide. “I promise.” 

“I’ll make sure he uses it responsibly,” Katie told him. Bucky handed her the bag and she tucked it in her pocket. 

Now, he produced the Bucky Bear. If it was possible, Nicholas’ eyes grew even wider. “Do you think you can take Mr. Bear on an adventure while your sister and I talk?” Nicholas nodded and took the bear. When he flopped to the ground, he was already making up a mission. 

Bucky motioned with his head to the kitchen. Katie sat on one of the barstools while Bucky washed off the counter. He grabbed a bowl, cutting board, knife, and the containers of berries he’d purchased at the store that morning. 

“Sorry, about all of that,” he said, dumping the raspberries in the bowl. 

Katie shook her head. “Don’t be.” She looked back at the living room. Both Eva and Aapeli were on the floor with him. “You’re really good with him. He's been so withdrawn since dad left.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be. He was never really much of anything; gone more than he was around. But at Nick's age, you worship your parents, you know?” Her nostrils flared. “The first few months were really hard for him. The night you came over, it was nearly impossible to put him to bed. He kept asking when Mr. Bucky was going to come back and play. When I said I was coming over here, he refused to be left behind.” 

Bucky looked up from the strawberries. “You’re telling me you didn’t just come so I could solve all your problems?” 

Katie smiled, shaking her head. “I’m not complaining, but no. I came to give you this.” She lifted the box from her lap. “I finally finished editing and had them developed. And I promised you copies.” 

“Our photos?” 

Katie tucked her hair behind her ears. “I was hoping to get them done sooner, but things came up.” 

Before Bucky could reply, the door opened. There was grumbling in the entryway, and then Steve walked into the kitchen, holding a bouquet of sunflowers. “Do you know how hard it is to find fresh sunflowers in the middle of winter?” he asked, pressing a kiss to Bucky’s cheek. “Hey, Katie.”

“It’s evidently not that hard if you were able to find them,” Bucky replied, watching as he put them in a vase and filled it with water.

“You’re hilarious, Buck. Truly.” 

“Unlike you.” 

“Har har.” Steve appeared beside him, setting the vase on the counter. He reached out to grab a strawberry. Bucky hit his hand away. 

“Steve, dear, we have guests. Please behave yourself.” 

Steve made a face. “It’s not like she doesn’t know what we’re like at home. That was the point of all those pictures.” 

Katie half shrugged. “He’s got a point.” 

“Please don’t encourage him.” 

“You ruin all my fun.” 

Bucky looked at him, one eyebrow raised. “Your sense of fun astounds me.” 

Steve staggered back, one hand over his heart. “You wound me, Buck. Everyday.” 

He dragged his gaze down Steve’s body. “Seems like you have enough padding to protect yourself.” 

“Fu-”

Bucky cut him off with a look. “Choose your next words wisely, dear. We have young children in the house that don’t need to be tainted by your foul mouth.” 

Steve elected to flip him the bird instead and Bucky sniggered. His hand darted forward to grab a strawberry before he could get slapped and walked into the living room. Both him and Katie turned their attention to the explosion that was sure to happen. There was a loud squeal as soon as Steve jumped over the back of the couch. 

“Buck?” Steve looked back to the kitchen, a look of apprehension on his face. But Bucky had told him there were young children in the house. It wasn’t like he hadn’t warned him. 

Nicholas didn’t give Steve any more time. “Is it true that you’re Captain America?” 

Steve moved off the couch, now hovering in the space between the kitchen and the living room. “I was, yes, but I’m retired now.” 

Nicholas didn’t seem to care about that part. “Do you still have your shield? Can I see it? Is it hard to throw? Is it heavy? Can I try?” 

Steve blinked rapidly. His fist clenched. 

“Nicholas,” Katie warned. He didn’t look chided by the reprimand. 

Eva jumped off the couch and sat at his side, leaning against his leg. He seemed to relax slightly. “I don’t have it anymore,” he said. “I had to leave it behind to save my best friend.” 

Nicholas nodded sagely as if he’d known that all along and wanted to make sure Steve knew too. “Does it make you sad that you don’t have it anymore? I would be. It was pretty cool.” 

“It was.” He shifted uncomfortably, right hand on his left elbow. He looked tired. Bucky was about to say something when Steve spoke again. “Hey, I see that you have a cool looking arm. Did you know that Bucky has one just like it?” 

Bucky almost laughed at the look Nicholas gave Steve. It clearly told him that was old news, but he stretched his arm out just the same. “Mr. Bucky says mine is only one color ‘cuz I’m so brave that I didn’t need any Brave Powder like he did.” 

Steve looked over to Bucky, his eyebrows raised. “Brave Powder?” he mouthed.

Bucky just grinned. “I’ll explain later,” he mouthed back. 

Nicholas had kept talking during the exchange. “Mr. Bucky needed Brave Powder ‘cuz he gets scared sometimes, but that’s what he gots his dog for. He’s not as scared now, so he let me have some of his extra in case I ever get super scared. Do you get scared too? Does your dog help you like Mr. Bucky’s helps him?” 

Steve looked down at Eva, who still leaned against his legs. Another look crossed his face. Bucky was about to say something again when he answered. “She does help me out. She’s a good girl, aren’t you, Eva? You’re a good girl.” 

“Can I pet her? I’ve only petted Mr. Bucky’s because mama says I haveta ask before.” 

“So you’re telling me she’d just been ignored this entire time? Oh, you poor baby.” He sank to his knees and gave her a thorough rub. She flopped onto her side and rolled onto her back. She sneezed. Bucky couldn’t see Steve’s face anymore, but his tone was lighter, more relaxed when he next spoke. “Please, help me give all the attention she deserves. Otherwise, she’ll give me nothing but grief for the rest of the night.” 

Nicholas dropped back to the ground, now petting both Eva and Aapeli. He continued chattering and Steve occasionally replied, seeming more at ease with every new exchange. 

“Hey, Nicholas,” Bucky called after a few minutes of watching them. “You should see if Steve will help you out on the mission Bucky Bear was on earlier. It sounded important.” 

He was back in it before Bucky finished talking. Steve shifted himself so Bucky could see his profile. His smile was unsure, but it was there. 

“Are you sure you’ve never done this before?” Katie asked. “You’re insanely good with him.” 

“I mean, I spend my days wrangling Steve. Does that count?” He went back to cutting up the strawberries. 

She smiled. “So the two of you are doing alright then?” She snuck a strawberry from the bowl. Bucky allowed it. 

“Something like that.” 

“If you don’t mind me asking, has it been hard? Growing up the way you did and coming to realize the way you felt?” 

“This for your project?” 

She nodded. He put his knife down and let himself lean against the counter. There was a sudden burst of laughter from the living room. Automatically, he looked over. Steve had grabbed one of the bird figurines Sam had hidden all over their house and swooped it over Bucky Bear. It looked like they were in the thick of the action. The unsure smile on Steve’s face had grown into a grin. He laughed at something Nicholas said. Bucky’s heart melted. For a second, he let himself believe Steve was playing with their kid. 

He pulled his gaze back to find Katie waiting, her phone out to take notes. “The hardest part was letting myself believe that it was okay. But loving him?” He looked back. Steve was on his stomach now, laughing again. “Loving him is the easiest thing I’ve ever done.” 

“How did you know that Steve was your person?” 

With a smile, he told her the tale of their first meeting. 

Another half-hour passed that way. She asked questions pertaining to their lives and he answered the best he could. When he finished cutting the berries, he sprinkled them with sugar, put them in the fridge, sprinkled the counter with flour and started back on his dough. 

It still surprised him that he was so comfortable discussing their life with her, but he was. There wasn’t the normal feeling of anxiety that always accompanied him in therapy, no matter how comfortable he was with Dr. Scheinbaum. But with this, he wasn’t trying to work through anything; he was just talking. And she was curious. He found himself remembering things he’d nearly forgotten. It was later that he realized it was because she reminded him of Becca.

When Katie called Nicholas over, saying it would be best if they got going, her brother wasn’t the only one expressing disappointment. It was nice having friends that weren’t from the same life as them. It made him feel almost normal. 

“What do you say, Nicholas?” Katie asked after helping him with his coat. 

He ran over to Bucky and wrapped his arms around his legs. “Thank you, Mr. Bucky, for giving me your Brave Powder. I promise I’ll be really careful with it.” 

“Remember to keep striving for your super strength and Steve and I will come take your trick or treating.” 

Bucky almost laughed at the startled look on Steve’s face when he was hugged as well. “Thank you, Mr. Steve, for playing with me and letting me pet your dog.” 

Steve put a hand on his head. He still looked slightly confused. Then he gave a minute shake of his head and a small smile crossed his face. “You’re very welcome, Hero Nicholas.” 

Nicholas was grinning ear to ear when he went back to his sister. She put her hands on his shoulders. “Thank you for this afternoon, Bucky, Steve.”

Bucky nodded. “Anytime. Best of luck on finishing your project.” 

She was reaching for the door when Steve spoke. “If...” he scratched the back of his head, looking embarrassed. “If you ever need anyone to look after him for a few hours, feel free to see if we’re available.” 

“Really?” Katie looked as surprised as Bucky felt. Even Steve seemed slightly surprised by his offer. 

Steve looked to Bucky. He appeared to weigh his answer. “Really. We’d love to have him if we’re free. Lord knows we don’t do anything but sit around.”

“Speak for yourself,” Bucky muttered. 

“I’ll let mom know. It would be nice to have a sitter that he likes.” She looked at both of them. “Say your goodbyes, Nicholas.” 

“Goodbye!” 

“I’ll see you guys later.” She opened the door and stepped outside. “Enjoy your photos.” She nodded to herself, took her brother’s hand, and walked to her car. Bucky waited until they’d turned out of the driveway to close the door. 

***

After Bucky shut the door, he immediately returned to the kitchen and washed his hands. He took up his rolling pin and continued rolling the dough on the counter. Steve snuck his arms around his waist and rested his chin on his shoulders. He was exhausted, both mentally and physically. 

“Seems like you were busy when I was gone.” 

“I save all my lazing about for when you’re home since you’re so good at it.” He put the strips he’d cut aside and grabbed another portion of dough. “Speaking of, there’s a load of clothes in the wash I never had the chance to change. Take care of it for me?”

“Only for you.” He kissed his cheek and gave him a quick squeeze. Bucky continued working. 

Not only did Steve put the clothes in the dryer, he also took the clean sheets to their room to make their bed, being sure to fluff the pillows the way he knew Bucky liked. He closed the window. Bucky still worked when he returned, so he sat on the couch next to Eva. She stretched out, her head in his lap. He played with her ears. 

Steve had walked into the house ready to have one of the hardest conversations he thought he’d ever have. Dr. Scheinbaum had been right, as usual. If he didn’t talk to Bucky about this, it would only make things harder. He’d spent over an hour after his appointment trying to figure out what to say. 

What he hadn’t expected was to walk in and have a six-year-old barrage him with questions; to be pulled into a harrowing mission to save all the unicorns from a fire demon; he hadn’t expected to be hugged around his legs. 

He hadn’t expected to enjoy himself. That was the thing that still marveled him. 

Steve had decided that fatherhood wasn’t for him. Maybe he would be good at it like Dr. Scheinbaum said—she was normally right—but he knew it would bring up too many questions and insecurities about himself that he knew he wouldn’t be able to handle facing every day. That’s what he’d planned on telling Bucky. But...

“Hey, Buck?” he called. “Is that what being a dad would be like?” 

“Some of the time. Why do you ask?” 

“I think I like it.” 

What he’d been afraid of hadn’t mattered in the moment. Nicholas hadn’t cared about anything that had happened in his past, barring the first few questions he’d had upon their first meeting. It was the present he cared about. Asking about Eva. Saving the unicorns from the fire demon. Telling him all about the latest drawing he’d made (Steve had given him some suggestions on other things he could draw). After letting his inhibitions go, he’d had fun. When Katie said it was time for them to go, he’d been genuinely sad. 

Bucky leaned over the back of the couch. Flour clung to his nose. “Yeah?” 

Steve dusted it off. “Let’s talk about it later. I mean it this time.” The last time he’d said that, after the museum, they hadn’t. But this time, he wasn’t going to back away. 

“Over dessert? Which, by the way, is going to blow you away.” 

“It’s a date,” Steve said. Bucky kissed him hard and returned to the kitchen, singing along loudly the song that just came on. 

This time, they really were going to talk. Steve was going to tell Bucky his fears and his possibly changing feelings. He knew Bucky would understand, probably more than Steve wanted him to. It would be okay. 

Anything that made Bucky that happy had to be okay. 

Knowing that his mind would chase itself in circles if he didn’t occupy himself, Steve went into his room. A quick scrounge had his new canvas, practice sketches, pencils and brushes in a pile. Another minute had most of his paints together. If he could just find the gold powder he’d just purchased, he’d be set to start working. 

Now Steve knew his desk was messy. If he passed his favorite store for art supplies, he couldn’t help but go in and stock up on some things he might need in an upcoming project. Part of it was growing up in the depression; having surplus had never been an option, so he let himself splurge on what he cared about. He tried to keep all the same things together, but with the amount of stuff he had, it wasn’t always possible. That being said, it didn’t really surprise him when he couldn’t immediately find what he was looking for. However, after five minutes of searching through drawers, he grew frustrated. He’d sworn it had been on his desk that morning. 

He stuck his head out of his room. “Hey, Buck? You don’t happen to have any idea where my packet of gold paint powder went, do you?” 

Bucky grimaced. “Yeah, about that...” he scratched the back of his head. “You know how I said I’d tell you about Brave Powder later?” 

“Yeah...?” 

So he listened to the story of how Nicholas had asked if he could have a dog like Aapeli and was sad when he’d been told no, of how Bucky had told him that Shuri had dusted his arm with a miraculous substance that made him brave. He smiled as he told the story. Steve couldn’t blame him. There was no doubt in Steve’s mind that Bucky was going to be an amazing dad one day. Who was Steve to stand in the way of that on fears that might be unfounded? 

“And let me guess, the extra you told him about was my paint?” 

“I was on a time crunch and it seemed like a better option than glitter.” 

Steve had to give him that. “Guess it’s good I still need to prep my canvas.” There was plenty of time to go to the store and buy more. He was getting low on a couple of things anyway. 

“Sorry.” 

Steve just shrugged. “No worries. You had to do what you had to do. I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t crazy.” 

Bucky grinned. “Well, I wouldn’t be too sure about that.” 

Steve flipped him the bird as Bucky blew him a kiss. He returned to his room to grab the canvas, pencil and best practice sketch. Bucky looked up from where he was whipping up a custard when he sat at the counter. It was rare for him to sit there when he worked on canvas. Normally, he preferred the dining room table in order to stretch out and give himself all the space he might need. But he didn’t want to be alone right now. He wanted the normal sounds of Bucky working in the kitchen, occasionally singing when a song he liked came over the speaker. So he settled himself as comfortably as he could and started to sketch. 

By the time Bucky had finished dinner and dessert, he’d gotten a basic outline finished. There were still a few things he needed to fix, but for the most part, he was happy with it. 

“Where did you end up finding the flowers?” Bucky asked. Steve had moved them to the dining room table where they could enjoy them during dinner. 

“A small shop in Manhattan.”

“You drove all the way into Manhattan just to find sunflowers?” 

Steve shrugged, grating cheese over his stroganoff. “It was nice out, I had a lot of things to think about. The drive did me good, cleared my head, made it easier to make the decision I needed to.”

“And what decision was that?” 

“We’ll talk over dessert. Right now, I just want to spend time with you.” He didn’t want to see Bucky’s face fall just yet. 

Bucky gave him a long stare, but eventually just shrugged. “How was therapy without Eva?” 

“Let’s talk about your day instead.” He stabbed a noodle and wrapped it around his fork. Bucky reached over and took his hand, smoothing his knuckles with his thumb. 

“I have some good news I’ve been waiting to share until I got all the details worked out.” 

“And what would that be?” Steve took his bite. “This is really good by the way.” 

Bucky glowed with pleasure. “I thought I’d put a little more effort in for our first Valentine’s Day.” 

“Bucky, even if we ordered out, it would’ve been perfect.” Steve took another bite and said through a full mouth, “but I’m glad you didn’t. This is amazing.” He closed his eyes as he chewed to savor the rich sauce and fresh noodles. 

“Can I tell you my good news before you decide to take my stroganoff recipe to bed?” 

Steve flushed. “Yes, please. Tell me.” He put his fork down, rethought the decision, took one more bite, and then sat up straight, giving Bucky his full attention. 

Bucky waited another minute to be sure Steve wasn’t going to start eating again. He wanted to, but he could wait. 

“I got a job at the garage down the road. I start on Monday.” 

“Buck! That’s-I don’t know what to say. That’s incredible!” 

Bucky flushed with happiness. “I’m really excited. There’s a little space in the very back where I’ll be able to work without a lot of the noise so I can bring Aapeli and work on bikes.” 

“I’m really happy for you.” 

“Thanks.” He ducked his head, unable to contain his smile. Steve would do anything to see him this happy all the time. “I’m really excited.” 

“On Monday when you’re at your first day of work, I’m going to go down to the shelter, see if I can volunteer a few hours each week,” Steve decided. 

“You’re not allowed-”

“To bring home any animals, I know.” 

Bucky stared at him. “Just making sure you remember.” 

“How could I forget? You ruin all my fun.”

“Just trying to keep our house from being overrun.” 

“My house,” Steve muttered. “Technically it’s my house.” 

“What was that, Steve?” 

“Nothing, dear. Just commenting on how good dinner is.” 

Bucky just rolled his eyes. 

By the time Bucky brought out the creme brûlée, Steve’s stomach had started to knot itself again. He wanted to do anything to make Bucky happy. But what if everything with Nicholas had been a fluke? What if he had tricked himself into enjoying himself just so he wouldn’t have to tell Bucky he didn’t want to be a dad? He didn’t even know what he wanted anymore. 

“Steve, you okay?” 

Steve blinked, the room coming back into focus. “Yeah.” 

“You sure? I’ve been trying to get your attention for the last minute.” Bucky reached out and took his hand again. 

“Just thinking.” He took a bite of his dessert. This is-”

“Really good, I know. Talk to me, Steve.” 

“Did you spend this entire late afternoon excited for dessert?” Steve finally asked. Bucky nodded. Steve nodded and chewed his bottom lip. 

“Do you not want to have this conversation?” Bucky looked disappointed but unsurprised. 

“I do,” Steve said. “I’m just trying to figure out the best way to say-”

“That you don’t want to be a dad?” 

“That it’s complicated, Bucky.” Steve took his hand back and rubbed his face. Bucky waited, his eyebrows drawn. “Okay, yes. The decision that I made on my drive was that I didn’t want to be a dad. I mean, think about it for a second. You know what my childhood was like, how people were. That’s not just going to go away.” He took a breath. “So my fear was-is-that if I try to ignore this and become a dad, that it’s just going to make things worse. On my drive, I decided that that was too high of a price to pay.” 

“But after-”

“I know, I’m getting there.” He rubbed his face again, exhausted. “I came home fully prepared to tell you what I just did. That’s why I acted the way I first did with Nicholas. But then something changed. Don’t ask me what, because I have no idea. Maybe it was the fact that I knew he would leave and it didn’t really matter, I don’t know, but I found myself actually having fun. When we were playing, I was one-hundred percent in the present for the first time today. I enjoyed that, I really did.” 

Bucky watched him, eyes sad. “Steve we don’t have to-”

“No,” he said firmly. He stirred what was left of his creme brûlée. “The reason I’ve been so in my head tonight is because I’ve just been imagining the face you’re giving me now. I didn’t want to take away your hope. I knew that if I told you, you’d just say that we could forget the whole thing, that you’ve already come to terms with not having a kid-” 

“Steve.” Bucky cut him off mid-sentence. “What I was _ going _ to say is that we don’t have to do this now. Would I love to? Of course. But I’ll be just as happy if it happens five years from now. Yes. This is something I want, but it’s something I want to do _ with you _.” 

Steve looked up from the table. “And if I decide that I don’t?” 

“We’ll cross that bridge if we get there. But for now, I’m going to hold onto the happiness I felt when you told me you liked the feeling of being a dad.” 

Steve nodded. He felt lighter than he had before. Still confused, but that was to be expected. They’d figure it out together. He made a mental note to tell Dr. Scheinbaum that she was right during their next session. A clink of a spoon against crockery reminded him that he still had dessert left. Spooning more berries in his dish, he took another bite. 

“This is seriously one of the best things I’ve ever tasted in my life,” he said through another full mouth. 

Bucky grinned. “Told you it was going to blow you away.” 

Dishes finished, they laid themselves on the couch, glasses of wine and chocolates on the coffee table next to the box of photos. Steve had wanted to go through them. Bucky ‘wanted to finish what he’d started that morning before being so rudely interrupted by Steve’s need to go to therapy’. Steve hadn’t been about to complain. 

Bucky’s hands rested on Steve’s butt. “The serum really did give you a fine ass,” he said. “It used to be the saddest thing I’d ever set eyes on.” He slipped his hands into Steve’s back pockets. “It’s immaculate now.” 

“Are you done talking about my butt?” 

“I’m never going to be done talking about your ass.” 

“Right.” Steve rolled off of him. Bucky propped himself on an elbow and stared at him. A small smile lifted his lips. 

“What now?” 

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re ridiculously pretty?” 

“Is this your daily compliment?” 

Bucky looked insulted. “I’ve been giving you compliments all day,” he said. “Just because you don’t think you have a good ass doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate it.” 

“I never said anything of the sort.” 

Bucky grinned mischievously. “So you agree, you think you have an amazing ass?” 

Steve started to push himself off the floor. “I’m going to bed.” 

Bucky wrapped his arms around his waist and pulled him back onto the couch, cradling him against his chest. “You’ll do nothing of the sort. What you’re going to do is drink your wine and eat your chocolates, and we’re going to look at the photos that Katie so generously gifted us.” 

“One more word about my butt and you’re sleeping alone.” 

Bucky pouted. “Boo. You ruin all my fun.” 

“Then we’re even.” Steve settled himself more comfortably on the couch, Bucky’s arm draped over his shoulders. After another sip of wine, he opened the box. 

The first photo was of them standing stiffly. Their faces passive. Only minute changes made their way into the next couple: the positioning of his hand, flyaways of Bucky’s hair—things only an eye trained to find the differences could easily pick out. And then the change was explosive. A wide grin split Bucky’s face. His head was thrown back in laughter. Steve on his back, kissing his cheek, the shyest smile on Bucky’s lips. Steve loved them more than he could say. 

Then came the ones with Eva and Aapeli. They sat between them, their vest proudly displayed. There were a few good ones with all four of them smiling. Then Eva kissed Steve’s cheek and the rest showcased them dissolving into laughter. 

“This was a good day,” Bucky murmured. 

The park had been wonderful, but it was the photos from the house that he was most looking forward to. Another sip of wine was had. A chocolate was eaten. A kiss or two stolen. And then he continued. 

The first photo had been a joke. On their way home, Bucky had made a comment about people being carried bridal style. So while he cleaned up after Aapeli, Steve had instructed Katie to enter the house before them. When they’d gotten to the yard, Steve had swept Bucky off his feet and carried him into the house. Katie had captured Bucky roaring with laughter and Steve looking pleased as could be. There was also one of them kissing as they crossed the threshold. 

They’d really just tried to have a normal afternoon and forget that she was there. For the most part, it had worked. There were photos of them on the couch, Steve drawing, Bucky reading. In a few, one of them observed the other, eyes full of love and smiles soft. Of course, there was Bucky in the kitchen, where he’d cut some fruits and veggies for them to snack on.

“What song had come on again?” Bucky asked when they came to one with Steve holding a pencil like a microphone and Bucky looking both embarrassed and exasperated. 

“Proclaimers, _ 500 Miles _.” 

Bucky hummed. 

There was another series of them in laughter, Steve’s hand over his heart, Bucky’s nose crinkled. They could almost hear the laughter. 

“Oh no, let’s skip these.” 

They’d gotten to the portraits of Bucky. He stood in his favorite grey tank top, his hair in a bun. Armless. In the photo, he faced away from the camera, but his reflection in the glass showed his eyes were closed. There was another where he was shirtless, exposing all of the scarring on his back. 

“I think they’re beautiful, Buck.” He really did. But Bucky shifted uncomfortably, so Steve continued on. 

The last six were in black and white. They stood in front of the window, facing each other, arms around each other’s waists. It was a simple moment separated into five. The light from the window haloed around them. 

In the first, they simply looked at each other. If you didn’t know Bucky’s face as well as Steve did, you would miss the subtle crinkle around Bucky’s eyes, the softening of the lines between his brow, the slightest lift of his lip. It didn’t look like Steve was smiling either, but that was only because it was the crooked smile he reserved just for him. 

In the second, Bucky cupped his cheek. Steve rested his head in his hand and pressed a kiss to his palm. In the third, Steve kissed Bucky’s forehead. In the fourth, his lips. 

He lingered on the fifth. Their foreheads were pressed together. Steve’s eyes were closed. Bucky’s weren’t. He looked at Steve as if he couldn’t believe how he’d gotten this lucky. It almost made him want to cry. 

But it was six that automatically became his favorite. They simply hugged. Both of their faces turned away from the camera. In a strange way, it was the most intimate. 

Steve only noticed the note when he lifted the top to replace it. A pink post-it note with cursive. _ These last six are just for you. If the entire world had even half the love you share, it really would be a miraculous place. Thank you for everything. -Katie _

Bucky was quiet. He stared at the box where the last photo was still visible. Steve was usually pretty good at guessing what was going on in his head, but the longer he watched him, the less sure he became. Finally, he just stood up, pulling Bucky into the middle of the room with him. 

“Steve?” 

“Dance with me.” He tried spinning him, but he resisted. 

“Not tonight. I think I’m just going to head to bed; it’s been a long day.” 

“What, you’re going to make me dance alone?” He wasn’t going to allow Bucky to go to bed feeling whatever he was. Not if he could help it. 

Having absolutely no idea what he was doing, he attempted to dance the way he’d seen some young people do in movies. Hands above his head, he waggled his hips. 

“Please don’t make me keep doing this.” 

Bucky cocked his head, watching him, the unreadable expression starting to break. Steve shook his butt, turning so his back was towards Bucky. As he hoped, Bucky snorted and allowed Steve to pull him in. 

“Was it my ass that changed your mind?” Steve asked, grinning down at him. “I’ve heard that it’s quite nice.” 

“You’re insufferable.” But he was smiling now. 

Steve pouted. “What happened to sexy as hell?” 

“That dance you just did stripped you of that title.” 

“Ah well, I got what I wanted.” He tightened his hold on Bucky. 

“Go get our laundry,” he told Steve after a few minutes. 

So he did. And with wine and chocolate, dogs, and lots of laughter (and a few kisses), they folded their clothes. And even though the moment was exceedingly simple, Steve was glad it was theirs to share alone. 

-

It wasn’t until the end of the week that Steve found the courage to look at the book Dr. Scheinbaum had given him. Safe in bed with Bucky beside him, he opened it. If she’d only given it to him for the art, Steve still would have loved it. It wasn’t until Bucky took his hand and asked if he was okay that Steve realized he was crying. 

He stared at the page, rereading it. 

_ “Do you have any other advice?” asked the boy. _

_ “Don’t measure how valuable you are by the way you are treated,” said the horse. “Always remember you matter, you’re important and you are loved, and you bring to this world things no one else can.” _

And it was those words in conjecture with the simple ink drawings that allowed Steve finally to understand. People could say whatever they wanted about him, but that didn’t create his worth. What mattered was this moment, here in a place he felt safe with the man he loved, and the future they were going to create together. 

He looked to Bucky, kissing his hand. “I am.” 

And he was. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know The Boy, The Mole, The Fox, and The Horse didn't come out until 2019, but I finally read it and decided it was too important not to include.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Twilight, Babey!

The morning of March 10th, Steve woke early. Bucky snored gently beside him, still deeply entrenched in dreams. Early morning light filtered in through the curtains. If it were any other day, Steve would wrap his arms back around him and doze in absolute bliss until Bucky woke; or, he would take advantage of the sight and sketch it. There were now pages dedicated to the tousled hair and slightly parted lips. Steve couldn’t help himself. He drew what was beautiful. 

But, he’d promised himself last night that he was going to make breakfast. Bucky deserved the best birthday possible. So he watched him sleep for a moment longer, lightly caressed his cheek (Bucky smiled at the touch), kissed his forehead, and pulled the covers back. Before leaving the room, he took a picture, not willing to let the moment go. 

Eva and Aapeli followed him. He fed them and let them out to explore the garden. Most of the snow had melted in the streak of warmer weather they’d enjoyed. Aapeli sniffed at the newly revealed flower beds. Eva sprawled out on the patio. Happy that they were happy, he went into the kitchen and started making pancakes. Despite all the lessons, they were still the only thing Bucky allowed him to make unsupervised. 

Forty minutes later, Steve returned to their room with a tray that included: a plate of chocolate-chip pancakes, eggs, and bacon; a large glass of orange juice; and a vase of flowers. He set them on the desk and knelt on the floor beside Bucky, who still slept. Steve caressed his cheek again, this time adding a light shake of the shoulders. Bucky mumbled, blearily opening his eyes. Upon seeing Steve, a sleepy smile turned up his lips. (The number of times Steve had that in his sketchbook was embarrassing.) 

“Happy birthday, Buck,” Steve murmured, kissing him softly. His heart swelled at the warmth of Bucky’s lips. 

Bucky moved only to take Steve’s hand and pull it against his chest, where it rested right under his chin. It looked like he was struggling to stay awake. If he fell asleep again and Steve was trapped, well, that wouldn’t be much of a problem. Steve would never get bored if he had Bucky to look at. 

“That bacon?” he mumbled a few minutes later, eyes cracking open again. 

“Made you breakfast,” Steve said. 

Bucky groaned and stretched out. Eventually, he made his way into a sitting position. He had yet to release Steve’s hand. “Where is it?” 

Steve looked down at his hand. Bucky reluctantly released it. Hoping it was still warm, he grabbed the tray and set it on Bucky’s lap. He slipped back under the covers, legs tangling with Bucky’s. 

“Chocolate-chip pancakes _ and _bacon? I must’ve been really good to deserve this kind of birthday breakfast.” He cut into the stack and shoved the bite into his mouth, closing his eyes to savor them. ”I don’t understand how you’re so good at pancakes and so bad at literally everything else.” 

Steve shrugged. “How are you bad at pancakes when you’re so good at literally everything else?” 

Bucky opened his mouth to argue, but apparently couldn’t find any fault in Steve’s words. Instead, he took another bite. “Aren’t you going to eat?” he asked after swallowing. 

Steve was in the process of saying he’d already eaten when Bucky shoved a forkful of pancake in his mouth. Just like Bucky had, he closed his eyes. He was probably way too proud of his ability to make something that Bucky couldn’t but he didn’t care; he was actually so sure in his ability to make pancakes that he had the confidence to add to the recipe. A hearty dash of cinnamon and a teaspoon of vanilla. 

“Maybe another plate wouldn’t hurt.” 

“Get me more,” Bucky demanded, settling himself more comfortably in bed. 

Steve took the outstretched plate. This time when he returned to bed, the dogs joined him. If they ate most of the bacon from his plate, that was only between them. 

“I have to pop into the garage for a couple hours,” Bucky told him as they got dressed for the day an hour later. “I want to finish the bike I’m working on.” 

It had been a slow morning, filled with random talk and lazy kisses. There were some days Steve couldn’t believe this was real: that waking up next to his best friend was normal; that he didn’t need to think before kissing him; that Bucky’s smile, small but filled with unspeakable happiness, was all for him. 

“Okay.” That made his entire morning a hell of a lot easier. 

“No you shouldn’t go into work on your birthday?” 

“Like I could stop you,” Steve said, picking out a pair of socks at random (they were from a special collection that had Cookie Monster on them). “I sometimes think you like the garage more than spending time with me.” He grinned over at Bucky and pulled his socks on. 

Bucky, half-dressed, closed the space between them, wrapping his hands around Steve’s waist. Steve locked his fingers around Bucky’s neck. 

“Can’t do this at the garage now, can I?” The kiss he gave Steve left him breathless and his hair completely disheveled. 

“I sure hope not,” Steve whispered, hands now on Bucky’s back. 

Bucky ran a hand through Steve’s hair, fixing what he had ruined. After a rather innocent follow up kiss, he went back to the dresser, picked up a white shirt, and finished getting dressed. Steve forgot what he was doing. By the smirk Bucky wore as he left the room, Steve knew he knew exactly what he was doing. 

“Just be sure you’re back by two,” Steve called when his voice returned. 

Bucky walked out of the bathroom, deftly trying his hair back. His smirk had been replaced by a wicked grin. “You think there’s any way in hell I would miss this afternoon? Steve, I’ve been waiting months for this day. _ Months._ The internet isn’t going to know what hit it.” 

“I know.” 

Bucky slipped on his leather jacket and grabbed his keys from the hook. Aapeli jumped off the couch when he called for her. After quickly pecking Steve on the lips, he almost ran to his bike, easily securing Aapeli to the back. They’d purchased two carriers shortly after Valentine’s Day. It hadn’t taken long to train them. 

When Bucky had turned out of sight, Steve returned to the kitchen. Hands on his hips, he turned in a circle. “Right. Okay. Bowl.”

It was shortly after he had everything out on the counter that he started to panic. This was a terrible idea. What was he thinking? Natasha answered on the third ring. She laughed for three minutes after he told her what was happening. Eventually, she agreed to walk him through the process. Everything was going well until it came to the eggs. 

“How do you make sure you have equal amounts of white and yolk in each half?” he asked, staring at the egg in the bowl. He’d spent the last few minutes working to cut the yolk in half to add to what he hoped was half the white. 

“How do you what?” 

“Doesn’t separate mean divide in half?” 

“Yeah, so you have the yolk in one bowl and the whites in another, dipshit.” If Steve had to guess, she was pinching the bridge of her nose. 

“Oh.” That made so much more sense. There was silence. He stared at the mess of the eggs. “Natasha?” 

There was a deep sigh. “Don’t do anything else, Steve. I’ll be over in fifteen minutes.” 

And in fifteen minutes, Natasha indeed stood next to him. When she’d first seen the mess he’d made of the kitchen (don’t ask him how flour came to be on the walls, he didn’t know) she’d cackled. When she saw what he’d done to the eggs, she’d fallen to the floor, wheezing. It took her almost fifteen minutes to regain her composure enough to show him how to properly separate eggs.

***

Bucky loved being at the garage. Just like being with Steve felt right, working at the garage fixing bikes felt right. It was a part of him that hadn’t been affected by his past. Jacket on the chair behind him and Aapeli dozing by the wall, Bucky crouched in front of the bike, rechecking the radiator. A playlist of classic rock and southern gothic played from the radio on the workbench. 

When the bike had been brought to him two weeks ago, it had been barely more than a piece of junk. The owner had admitted she’d found it on the side of the street touting a ‘free’ sign. In Bucky’s professional opinion, it would’ve been cheaper for her to buy a different bike rather than repair this one, but he wasn’t going to complain. He’d basically rebuilt the entire thing. Knowing he still could gave him a sense of pride he never expected to feel again. 

Until he’d had something to occupy his time, he didn’t realize how bored he’d been just laying around the house all day. He loved the feeling of coming home knowing he’d done something, of being exhausted because he’d put energy into something rather than doing nothing. Needless to say, this past month had been one of the best he could remember. 

He wiped his hands on the oil rag tucked into his belt. Even with it, his shirt was dirty. Wearing white really hadn’t been the best decision, but he knew Steve liked the way he looked in a white t-shirt. Steve hadn’t told him explicitly, but the number of walls he’d walked into when Bucky wore one was both telling and hilarious. 

“Hey, Hubbard! You done with that bike yet?” 

Jen, the owner of the garage, entered his workspace. Bucky had liked her the moment he’d seen her. A clean buzzcut accentuated her sharp cheekbones. Her leather jacket was draped over forearms, revealing well-muscled arms which sported the coolest tattoo sleeves Bucky had ever seen. Huge vipers wound their way up her biceps, their tails curled around her wrists, and their small triangular heads resting on her collarbones. They looked almost alive. 

When he’d first entered the garage looking for a job, she’d taken one look at his arm, asked if he knew how to fix anything ranging from a rabbit to a chopper, and thrown him a wrench when he’d said yes. So far, he hadn’t given her a reason to doubt her answer. 

“Almost! Just need to change the tires and take her for a test drive.” 

She nodded in approval. Aapeli wandered up to her and leaned against her legs. Jen rubbed her ears. “When you’re finished up here, there’s a chopper I want you to take a look at. If I’m to believe the chap that brought her in, it was a car accident.” She looked around to make sure they were alone. “But if you want my opinion, it looks more like it took a collision with a tree.” 

Bucky grinned. “If that’s the case, it shouldn’t be a problem. If you can believe it, that’s where I learned most of my stuff.” Someone had needed to fix all the bikes Steve damaged.”

“It’s up to your assessment if you think it’s worth saving,” Jen told him. “If it were up to me, I’d just scrap it for parts, but I know how much you enjoy the challenge.” 

“If there’s a frame, I can save it,” Bucky promised. He was positive nothing could be worse than the first bike of Steve’s he’d needed to fix. There’d barely even been a frame.

“That’s why I’m giving it to you.” Jen gave Aapeli one last rub and headed towards the main workspace. “It’s out back when you’re done.” 

“Got it.” 

“Oh, and Hubbard?” Jen turned around, smirking. “Happy hundredth. Hope your man gives you something good.” 

“Me too, Jen,” he muttered. “Me too.” 

And cranking up the volume, he continued working. 

Natasha’s car was already in the driveway when he turned into it a couple of hours later. Originally, he’d planned on leaving the garage right after finishing his test drive, but his curiosity had gotten the better of him. Jen had been right; the bike _ was _ in bad shape and would make more sense just to scrap. But Bucky had been right, too; Steve’s first bike had been worse. Compared to that wreckage, this would be a piece of cake. And if Jen was paying him to fix it, he would. 

He’d been in the middle of drawing up plans when he’d realized it was nearing one. Knowing Sam, if Bucky wasn’t home precisely when he’d agreed to fulfill his end of the bargain, the show would be off. And Bucky wouldn’t miss this for the world. Even if he was the Soldier, he’d find a way to break free of the cold mind (although, if that happened, Sam would claim that he found the cure and would be insufferable for the rest of his life). 

There was nothing immediately wrong when Bucky entered the house. Steve sat on the couch, tablet on his lap. Natasha sprawled out next to him, idly flipping through a magazine. Bucky narrowed his eyes; the lack of bickering was most suspicious. When he took a closer look, he knew something was off. 

“Steve, are you wearing a different shirt?” 

“...No.” 

Bucky rolled his eyes and went into the kitchen to grab a bite for lunch, only to be met by gleaming surfaces. Even the walls looked like they’d received a wipe down. That made the lack of bickering seem almost normal. Steve didn’t clean; he picked things up, put them in a semi-neat pile, and called it good. 

“Steve, dear, what happened in the kitchen?” 

“I cleaned?” 

“I wasn’t aware that word was in your vocabulary.” 

Natasha snorted. Steve buried himself into mixing colors on his tablet and muttered something to himself. 

“What was that, dearest?” Watching Steve squirm as he tried to think of something to say was highly entertaining. 

“I said that your influence has been highly influential.” 

“Mm-hmm.” He leaned over the back of the couch, cheek to cheek with him. Steve was doing his best not to look at him. “Maybe you’ll have remembered by the time I’ve showered.” Kissing him on the cheek, he went into the bathroom and turned on the shower. 

They were still in the same position when Bucky left the bathroom in a cloud of steam. His damp hair curled over his shoulders. He shoved it back behind his ears. 

“Did you have any clarity while I was freshening myself up?” Bucky asked, shrugging his jacket on over another white t-shirt. (Technically, the brown jacket was Steve’s, but individual closets meant nothing anymore.) 

“I can’t seem to recall what occurred between the hours of nine and noon,” Steve said, still refusing to look up. 

“You’re losing privileges, Rogers.” 

“Oh please, we both know that’s just talk, Barnes.” 

“You have a perfectly good bed that you can sleep in alone.” 

“Most times you relegate me to my bed to ‘think about my actions’, you end up conked out next to me, snoring obnoxiously loud.” He said all of this without looking up from his tablet. 

Natasha covered her mouth, trying to conceal her laugh. Bucky trained his gaze on her. It did nothing. 

“Before you try to get information from me, just know I’m the only reason your house is still standing,” she said. 

Bucky looked back at Steve, narrowing his eyes. Steve squirmed. “Steven, did you happen to use the oven or the stove?” 

“I will neither confirm nor deny that accusation,” he muttered, still staring at his tablet. 

“You’ve been mixing colors there for a while, Steven. Is there something you want to share with the rest of the class?” 

Steve just buried himself even deeper. He was saved from further questioning by a knock on the door. Steve immediately jumped off the couch, sprinting out of the living room. Bucky watched him answer the door, a bemused expression on his face. 

“I’ve never seen him work so hard to keep something a secret.” 

“You’ll find out sooner than later,” Natasha promised. 

“You helped, right? I don’t have to worry about being poisoned or anything?” Unless he was making pancakes, Steve alone in the kitchen was a scary prospect. Shortly after they’d moved in, Bucky had walked in to find Steve reading the back of a box of pasta while a burner on the stove burned without a pot. Steve’s response was that he’d been letting the stove preheat. 

“You don’t have to worry about being poisoned. You might have to worry about being amazed.” 

“The day I’m able to raise the bar for my expectations of Steve in the kitchen will be quite the day.” 

“I never said anything about raising the bar. You don’t have to worry about that, trust me.” She looked over the couch to make sure Steve and Sam were still conversing in the entryway before turning back to Bucky. “I’ll give you the full story once he reveals his final product.”

“What is it?” 

Natasha chuckled. “It’s adorable how proud he is of this. There’s no way I’m taking it away from him.”

Bucky looked back at the gleaming kitchen. “I’m just happy he cleaned up after himself. Was that his idea, or did you have any say in that?” 

“Everything today was his idea. I just helped.” 

Steve returned to the living room, Sam trailing behind him with a garment bag draped over his arm. 

“It’s about time you got here, Bird. We all aged rapidly waiting for your arrival,” Bucky said. 

Sam grinned. “Glad to know my presence delays the aging process. I’ll be sure to limit my guest list as necessary.” 

Bucky had been about to lob another comment at Sam when Natasha cut him off. 

“Can we eat? Golden Boy over here required supervision all morning, so I haven’t had the chance, and Biker Boy over there looks positively starved.” 

She looked pointedly at Steve, who jumped up and basically sprinted to the kitchen, sliding across the floor and barely catching himself. He pulled out platters of sandwiches and a jug of lemonade. 

“If you’ll follow me to the dining room, lunch will be served promptly.” 

They continued lounging. Bucky knew if it was Steve serving, there was still time before he was actually ready. 

Sam looked stunned. “Did Steve cook? Are we sure we didn’t somehow piss him off and this is his way of killing us without making it obvious?” 

“I heard that, Wilson,” Steve yelled. 

“Good!” Sam yelled back. “My presence is too valuable and my person too beautiful to be killed off by your fucking terrible food skills.” 

“I’m pretty sure putting a sandwich together can’t be counted as a skill,” Bucky muttered. 

“Oh, don’t tell Steve that,” Natasha told him. “You should’ve seen him spreading the mustard; he was so dedicated to the task that he didn’t even notice me filming the entire thing.” 

“Have I ever expressed my deep and undying love for you, Natasha?” Bucky asked. “Because it is deep and undying, and if I ever say anything that contradicts that-”

“I’ll know you’re normal.” 

“What do I have to do to get you to join me for lunch? Sing a song? Interpretive dance?” Steve appeared in the living room. 

Sam grinned wickedly. “Plea-”

“No.” Steve’s attempt to dance on Valentine’s Day was still ingrained in Bucky's memory.

“I don’t know, Bucky,” Natasha drawled. “Sounds like Steve’s offering. I think it would be rude if we denied him, especially since you haven’t explicitly stated which privileges he would be losing.” 

Grinning, Steve raised his hands above his head.

“There will be no dancing or singing,” Bucky said loudly, throwing a pillow at Steve’s head. He stood. “Now if you’ll please follow me to the dining room, this centenarian is hungry and would like to eat.” 

“Maybe he wants a private dance, Steve,” Sam said, not trying to prevent Bucky from hearing. 

He looked back to see Steve turn bright red. “Maybe I do, Bird.” Steve blushed even deeper. Bucky grinned. 

“Alright, daylight is a-wasting. If we’re going to do this whole filming thing, we have to do it now. The sun is necessary for my sparkle, and my contract expires today.” 

Sam said this after finishing his fourth sandwich. With the way he’d inhaled them, Bucky had come to three conclusions: he was incredibly hungry, he’d come to acknowledge they weren’t actually bad, or he hoped they’d kill him before he needed to don the outfit in the garment bag draped over the back of the couch. Bucky was betting on the latter. 

“Assuming this is what the centenarian wants, that is,” Sam continued with a glance to Bucky. “It is his big day and all. Wouldn’t want to do anything that’ll get him too worked up or anything, don’t want him to have any heart problems or anything.” 

Natasha looked thoughtful. “He could always use Steve’s life-alert device.” 

Bucky stared at them. “If you don’t get changed, you’re the ones who are going to need it.” 

Muttering to himself, Sam left the table. Natasha remained sitting, but pushed her plate back so she could rest one of her legs on the table. The other crossed under her. Bucky didn’t comment. They’d already established that none of them could sit in a normal fashion. He himself was sitting cross-legged. 

It took Sam twenty minutes to show himself again. The entire time they cleaned up the kitchen, he holed himself in the bathroom. Natasha told them that he had requested use of some of her makeup brushes. 

“Prepare yourselves,” Sam called. “For the most fashionable thing you’ll see the rest of your life.” 

Bucky held the video recorder up after checking for the thirty-fifth time that the red blinking light was on the top of the screen. He would never forgive himself if he missed it. Soulful piano music blasted from behind the bathroom door. It opened and Sam walked out. A long black robe with an impressive hood covered his entire body and hid his face. 

Bucky put his hand up to his mouth, eyebrows narrowing in confusion. “Where’s the fashion, Sam?” 

“Do you think I’m going to ruin the surprise? You’ve read the books, I studied the movies. You know it’s all about the dramatic reveal. But I will be the most fashionable thing you’ve ever seen.” He clapped his hands together and what looked suspiciously like glitter fell to the floor. “Now let’s get this show on the road!” 

“What happened to your reluctance?” Steve asked, looking like he was fighting not to laugh. 

Sam looked over at him. Whatever expression he made was hidden by the large hood. “You of all people should know that costuming does wonders to your mindset. Really gets you in the mood. Now my script is memorized, my skin is glowing, let’s GO.” 

And without anything else, he exited into the backyard. The three of them followed. Bucky couldn’t quite tell what he’d signed up to witness, but he was so excited to get all of it on film. 

*

Sam sat at a makeshift table created from a cardboard box. Bucky zoomed in on the piece of paper that Steve had (very badly) drawn a microscope on. Natasha entered the frame. Steve (covered in a green sheet) tossed her hair around her shoulders to act as a makeshift wind. Sam went rigid, his hand going to cover his mouth. As Natasha walked closer, he leaned further and further away. When Natasha sat beside him, he leaned so far he fell off his chair. 

*

Sam leaned against the side of the house, one hand on his hip, gazing out into the distance. Natasha stood in front of him. Bucky zoomed in on the dead expression of her face. If it wasn’t his birthday, he might be slightly scared that she would murder him, but surviving an entire century had its perks. 

“Hey, did you get contacts?” Natasha asked, sounding as dead as her eyes looked. 

Sam tugged his hood down even further. “No.” 

“Your eyes were black the last time I saw you. And now, they’re like a golden brown.” 

“Yeah, I know.” Sam heaved dramatically. “It’s the fluorescents.” 

*

They sat at the dining room table. A can of ravioli sat in front of Natasha. Sam looked around at the other seats, which were filled with Steve’s canvases; most of them were of Bucky, but there were a few half-finished self-portraits as well. 

“You’re really not going to eat?” Natasha asked. 

“No, I’m on a special...diet,” Sam replied, sipping from a large styrofoam cup. 

“How did you know where I was?” 

“I didn’t.” 

“Did you follow me?” 

“I feel...very...protective of you.” Sam put so much emotion into his voice it sounded like he was constipated. 

“So you followed me.” Natasha sounded insulted that anyone would think she needed protection. 

“I was trying to keep my distance...and then I heard...what those lowlifes were thinking...” 

“Wait, you read minds?” 

Sam looked around, staring at every painting, before looking back to Natasha. “I can read every mind in this room except for yours.” 

“Prove it.” 

Sam took another sip from the cup, red liquid showing through the straw. He pointed to a painting of Bucky in the garden and went clockwise. “Steve’s ass, Steve’s beard, the last idiotic thing Steve did, cacti, Bucky’s ass, the implications of giving Bucky a private dance.” 

If it weren’t so true, Bucky would’ve slapped Sam across the side of his head. Once again, Steve was beet red. 

With the amount of drama in his voice, it now sounded like Sam was about to cry. “I don’t have the...strength to... stay away from you anymore.”

Natasha looked straight into the camera. “Then find it.” 

If they could see his face, Bucky would’ve bet everything that Sam was doing his best to stay in character and not berate Natasha from going off-script. There was a kick from under the table. A second kick had a yelp of pain from Sam. Choking back a swear, he continued. 

“What were you thinking tonight, just before I came around the corner? I couldn’t understand your expression—you didn’t look scared, you looked like you were concentrating very hard on something.” There was now a note of excitement to his voice. 

Natasha looked like she wanted to murder someone. “I was trying to remember how to incapacitate an attacker—you know, self-defense. I was going to smash his nose into his brain.” 

The thought of Natasha needing to think about how to kill someone was hilarious. Bucky wouldn’t be surprised if she could kill someone ten different ways with an old shoe while thinking about what to have for breakfast. 

“You were going to fight them? Didn’t you think about running?” 

Natasha‘s fist clenched. “I fall down a lot when I run.” 

Bucky would bet anything that Sam was grinning beneath his hood.“What about the screaming for help part?” 

*

Natasha stood alone in the middle of the backyard. If looks could kill, all three of them would be dead. It was a show of how deep their friendship ran that Natasha sighed, and recited in the deadest voice she could muster: 

“About three things I was absolutely positive: First, Edward Birdbrain was a vampire. Second, there was a part of him—and I didn’t know how potent that part might be—that thirsted for my blood. And third, I was unconditionally and irrevocably in love with him.” 

Sam preened beside him. Bucky wondered when they would get the news that police had found him dead in a dumpster with no clues as to who had killed him. 

When the silence became awkward enough, Sam moved into the scene, standing some ten feet back. His black robe fluttered around him. 

“You’re impossibly fast and strong.” Natasha sounded like providing Sam a compliment was the most painful thing she’d ever experienced. 

Bucky had to fight back a snort. The fact that she was forced to say this to Sam, who was objectively the weakest among them when there were two super soldiers five feet away was hilarious. 

“Your skin is pale white and ice cold, your eyes change color, and sometimes you speak like you’re from a different time. You never eat or drink anything, you don’t go out into sunlight.” 

She paused, throwing a murderous glare at Bucky, who grinned and gave her a thumbs up. He zoomed in on her face. She flipped him the bird. 

“How old are you?”

Sam now stood directly behind her. “Seventeen.” 

“How long have you been seventeen?” 

“...A while.” 

Bucky circled around them, trying to make the shot as similar to the movies as possible. 

“I know what you are.” 

“Say it...out loud. Say it!” 

“A depressed bitch.”

Behind him, Steve sounded like he was choking. 

There was a moment where both of them just stood there, and then (in a move that clearly looked practiced) Sam scooped Natasha up and ran around the backyard. If Natasha hadn’t been caught by surprise, Bucky was sure Sam would’ve ended up mortally injured on the ground. He set her down and jumped into a patch of sunlight 

With great care, Sam untied his robe. “This is why we don’t show ourselves in sunlight,” he said, trying to keep the dramatic tone. It was obvious he was containing his excitement. “People would know we’re different.” 

Bucky zoomed in as Sam let the robe drop. Whatever Bucky had thought he’d be wearing, this was ten times better. His silver bell-bottoms were composed entirely of sequins. His top, again composed entirely from silver sequins, had a ginormous bow in the middle of his back. What skin was exposed was completely covered in glitter. Next to him, Steve was on his knees, laughing so hard it was nearly silent. Trying to smother his own laughter, Bucky fought to keep the camera steady. He wanted perfect quality. If Sam ever got married, this was being shown at his wedding. 

In slow motion, Sam turned around, finally revealing his face. Gold and silver glitter eyeshadow covered the skin all the way to his eyebrows. Bright highlight caked his cheekbones. More glitter coated his chin, cheeks, and forehead. 

Natasha blinked before joining Steve in laughter. A snort escaped Bucky before he could contain it. 

“You’re beautiful,” Natasha said through bits of laughter. It was the most life her performance had seen. 

“This is the skin of a killer, Bella. I’m a killer.” If possible, Sam’s performance had become even more dramatic. 

“I don’t believe that.” 

“That’s because you believed the lie, the camouflage. I’m the world’s most dangerous predator.” 

Steve choked again. Bucky smacked him on the back. 

“Everything about me invites you in,” Sam continued, flipping them off behind his back. “My voice, my face, even my smell.” 

Bucky leaned over and whispered something to Steve. He grinned wickedly and moved carefully into position. 

“As if I would need any of that,” Sam continued, as dramatic as ever. “As if you could outrun me!” 

He started jogging around the perimeter of the yard. A second later, Steve sprinted past him, yelling ‘on your left’ each time he lapped him. Bucky zoomed in on Sam’s face. He looked like he wanted to murder Steve. Bucky looked to Natasha, who wore a grin nearly identical to the one Steve had worn. 

“As if you could fight me off,” Sam said when he finished his run. 

He punched the air. Natasha moved, quick as lighting, grabbing his fist. A moment later, Sam was on the ground. Natasha examined her nails. Sam stood, dusting himself off. This time, it was him who wore the maniacal grin. As seamless as before, he grabbed Natasha and secured her on his back. 

“You better hold on tight, Spider Monkey,” he said. 

A second later, Natasha’s thighs were around his neck and he was back on the ground. 

“Are we sure Natasha’s not the vampire?” Steve asked, watching the spar with mild interest. 

“All I’m sure about is that Sam is _ never _going to dare me to do anything ever again,” Bucky replied, zooming as close as possible on Sam’s face. Natasha currently sat on his back. 

“How long do you think she planned this?” 

“I think this is the only reason Natasha agreed to the role. I’m so glad that this is going on the internet.” 

It soon became too dark for the filming to continue. Even if it hadn’t, Bucky doubted Sam would’ve wanted to continue, what with Steve and Natasha ruining most of his scenes. After making sure the camera was carefully locked away in his room (Bucky wouldn’t put it past Sam to tamper with the memory card), he joined the three of them in the living room. Sam had attempted to remove the glitter, but most of it remained. 

“I hope you’re not planning to sit on my couch,” Bucky said, throwing a stern look his way. “I don’t want to have to pick glitter off my ass every time I want to relax at night.” 

“Just ask Steve, I’m sure he’d be more than happy to help,” Sam replied, plopping himself down and lounging. Steve muttered unintelligibly and Sam cackled. 

Bucky grabbed the back of Sam’s collar and tossed him to the floor. Before he could get back up, Bucky jumped over the back of the couch and took his place, resting his head on Steve’s lap. Sam grumbled but sat against the recliner instead. Alpine hissed down at him from her place on the chair. 

“When do I get to learn what Steve was doing in the kitchen?” Bucky asked. 

“After dinner,” Steve said. 

“We need to sit through more of Steve’s cooking?” 

Bucky was pretty sure the only reason Steve didn’t get up and smack Sam was because his head was in his lap. Not that he was complaining. Fingernails scratched his scalp as Steve ran his fingers through his hair. 

“Only you, Sam,” Steve replied. “I ordered the rest of us Mexican.” 

“From that one place down the road that I love?” Bucky asked, eyes half-closed. 

“Where else?” Bucky could hear the smile in his words. 

“Have I told you how much I love you yet today?” First chocolate-chip pancakes in bed, then a scalp massage, and then his favorite Mexican? Add that to Sam making a complete fool out of himself, and it was shaping up to be a pretty great hundredth birthday. 

“Please remember that when you learn what I was doing in the kitchen.” 

For the second time that day, Steve was saved from Bucky’s reply by a knock on the door. He returned with large bags of food. The smell that came from them was heavenly. Steve set them on the coffee table and went back to the kitchen to grab plates and napkins. Natasha joined him and returned with four beers and forks. Bucky unloaded the bags, spreading the tortillas, veggies, rice, beans, cheese, and chicken on the table. Sam started reaching for a tortilla when Natasha slapped his hand away. 

“Steve, didn’t you say you had a special home-cooked meal for Sam?” Bucky asked. 

“Right.” Grinning, Steve left the living room, returning a few moments later. He set a bowl of birdseed in front of him. “Mixed it myself,” he said proudly. 

“I love you, Steve,” Bucky said, grabbing a tortilla and filling it ridiculously full with everything. 

Sam deadpanned. “You’re hilarious, truly. I can’t breathe, I’m laughing so hard.” 

“You know we only want to do the best for our bird,” Natasha replied, filling her own shell. 

Sam stood and started towards the kitchen. There was the sound of the bowl being placed on the counter. “Wait-are those sunflower seeds? I love sunflower seeds.” Sam returned with the bowl and sat back down. 

When they’d all eaten as much as they could, (Sam had actually eaten a fair amount of the bowl of seed), they cleared the coffee table. 

“Now, do I get to know what you were doing in the kitchen?” Bucky asked. 

Steve nodded and went to his room. When he returned, he held a cake stand in his hands. A large, three-layered cake barely fit inside. “I made you a cake,” he said unnecessarily. 

“So you used the oven.” 

“Natasha supervised.” 

“I came over once I learned that Steve doesn’t know what separating eggs means,” Natasha added. “The reason the walls were wiped down was because when I got here, they were covered in flour, and then he had way too much fun whipping the whites.” 

“Tattletale,” Steve muttered. 

Natasha pulled out her phone. “Happy Birthday.” 

“Natasha,” Steve said, eyes widening. “Natasha, please.” She handed it to Bucky. “Natasha!” 

Bucky grinned up at her. “I love you, Natasha.” 

Steve reached out and tried to grab the phone. It was all too easy for Bucky to place his hand over Steve’s face and push him away. He watched the video of Steve getting blasted with egg whites more times than he could count. When he finished, he wiped tears away from his eyes and walked over to Steve, who sat on a barstool with his head against the counter. Bucky rubbed his back. 

“I hate all of you,” Steve mumbled. “I’m moving out and never talking to any of you ever again.”

“What happened to this being your house?” Natasha asked. She now sat on top of the counter, legs dangling. 

“Fine, I’m kicking all of you out. And then I’m going to eat my cake alone with my imaginary friends because they aren’t mean.” 

“You’re kicking me out on my birthday?” 

Steve turned his head just slightly so he could look up at Bucky. He looked about ten. Before talking, he buried his head again. “Fine. You can stay until tomorrow.” 

“Why am I included in this?” Sam asked. “I dressed up and poured glitter over myself for your entertainment. I even ate your birdseed.” 

“You insulted my cooking before you even tasted it, therefore you’re kicked out. But since you ate your dinner, you’re allowed to visit.” 

Sam grinned. “You hear that? I get to visit.” 

“If you let me eat a slice of cake, I swear I’ll never make another pass about you being in the kitchen,” Bucky told him. It honestly did look good. Although he wasn’t sure how much of that was because of Natasha. 

“Promise?” 

“Promise.” 

Steve lifted his head from the counter. “I worked really hard and I think it came out really well and I’m really proud.” 

“I’m sure it’s wonderful.” Bucky looked over to Natasha who nodded. 

Steve lifted the top from the cake stand, fully revealing the cake in all its glory. German chocolate with a coconut-pecan frosting. One of Bucky’s favorites. Steve cut a piece and tipped it onto a waiting plate. Bucky held it eye-level. Appearance-wise, he couldn’t really find a fault. It looked moist and decadent. He took a bite. 

“Holy shit, Steve. You made something good.” 

“You don’t need to sound so surprised.” 

Bucky shot a glare at Natasha. “What happened to not needing to worry about raising the bar?” 

Natasha took out her phone and played a new video of Steve dancing while spreading mustard and flinging the condiment all over his shirt. “You don’t need to worry, Bucky, trust me.” 

Natasha and Sam left shortly after finishing the cake. Sam said he needed to scrub his skin to remove the glitter from his skin, and Natasha just recently adopted a cat she wanted to return to. Steve insisted that he go rest on the couch while he cleaned up the mess in the kitchen. So, eyes closed, Bucky savored what was the best birthday he’d ever had. He only opened them when Steve sat next to him. There was a package on his lap. 

“Happy birthday, Buck,” he said, handing it over. 

“I thought I said I didn’t want presents.” 

“I know, but I saw it, and, well, I think you’ll understand.” 

Eyes narrowed slightly, Bucky tore away the wrapping paper. “Steve?” 

“Is it too much?” 

Bucky held up the blue jacket. It was so similar to the one he’d worn during the war he needed to take a moment before answering. “No. It’s perfect, thank you.” He slipped it on. It fit perfectly. 

“You look good, Buck,” Steve whispered. 

Bucky cupped Steve’s cheek in his hand and drew him forward. Their lips met. He was about to push Steve back on the couch when Steve pulled away and stood. He walked over to the record player and let the smooth jazz fill the living room. 

“I’m pretty sure I owe you a birthday dance.” 

“Only if you want to ruin a perfectly good birthday.” 

Steve snorted. “I wasn’t planning a lap dance if that’s what you were thinking.” 

Bucky shrugged. “With your mind, I never know.” 

Steve looked affronted. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“You know exactly what that’s supposed to mean, Steve.” But he stood anyway and took Steve’s outstretched hand. 

For a while, they danced quietly to the sultry voice of Frank Sinatra. When _ The Nearness of You _ came on, Bucky rested his head on Steve’s shoulder and closed his eyes. His birthday had been amazing, but this was all he needed. This was what made him happy. The next time he went to the garage, he’d make sure to let Jen know his man had gotten him something good after all. 

Steve laughed softly, the vibrations warm against his cheek. “There’s glitter on your butt.” 

Bucky just smiled and held Steve all the tighter. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who just gradumacated? That's right, Bonky Bornes now has a college degree. I spent the last two weeks getting my ass handed to me by revisions, which is why I was rubbing my last two brain cells together to get this chapter finished. Which is also why I'm taking a short break from anything writing-related.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one about trust.

“Why do we have so many cans?” Steve pulled out a container filled to the brim with old aluminum cans. 

“Why do you have so many colored pencils?” Bucky asked in reply, not turning away from the large box he was attempting to extricate from beneath the shelving unit in the downstairs closet. 

“Because they’re useful,” Steve answered, not missing a beat. “What are we going to do with a hundred empty cans?” 

“We’re going to sell them, Steven. Aha!” He’d succeeded in freeing the box. 

“We don’t need the money, Buck. Why don’t we just recycle them and be done with it?” 

“Because, Steven, I don’t want to.” He opened the box, which contained most of the objects he’d cared about in his Romanian apartment. A few empty candy bar wrappers fluttered to the ground when he took out the beat-up leather jacket that covered four notebooks. 

Yesterday, when they’d been on their daily sunrise walk, Steve had suggested they spend a few days doing a deep clean of the house. It was, after all, spring. What better time to do a spring clean than the season it was named after? Steve had actually sat them down and created a list of things to be done. Bucky had pressed a hand to his forehead to check for a fever and had asked no fewer than ten times if he was feeling alright. Steve had nodded and said, a little self-consciously, staring down at the floor, that he was just excited to do the normal boring things that owning a house demanded. Bucky had kissed him hard after that. 

While Bucky knew they had a lot of stuff, he hadn’t realized just how much they’d managed to cram into the tiny basement closet. He didn’t even know where they’d gotten most of it. They’d only been in the house for a little more than a year. 

“So you’re telling me you don’t want me to put them in the pile that’s going to the regular recyclers?”

“I’m telling you no such thing.” Bucky set the jacket on his lap and pulled out the battered black notebook. His thumb swept across the cover. A shudder ran down his spine. He hadn't looked at these in a long time. 

“Are you being purposely cryptic because you enjoy watching me struggle?” 

Bucky didn’t answer. He’d opened the notebook to a random page. A flood of memories swept over him; scribbling frantically everything that had happened that day into one notebook, and trying, trying, trying to put together the random flashes of life that came to him in the darkest times of night when all he'd wanted to do was sleep. 

“Buck?” 

_ I want to know who the man is. His name is Steve, that much I know, but I can’t tell you why he’s important. They wanted me to kill him. He said a name that scratched on a door I didn’t even know existed. If I force myself, I remember black eyes, bloody noses, and bruised knuckles. A tiny kid with blond hair and blue eyes. He used to mean something to me, I know he did. But if I was held at gunpoint and the only thing to keep me alive was me telling the world who this man is to me, I would be dead.  _

A hand rubbed his back, gently pulling him from the words that he’d written years ago. Steve sat beside him, legs folded under him. “Are you okay?” 

Bucky closed the notebook, keeping the page marked with his thumb. “Do you remember when you were in my apartment and you asked me why I pulled you from the river? How I said I didn’t know, and you thought I was lying?” 

Steve nodded slowly. 

“I wasn’t lying. I didn’t know why I saved your life. You triggered something on the Helicarrier, but I had no idea who you were. All I knew was that I couldn’t let you die even though it was my mission to kill you. It took me a while to piece things back.” 

“But you did,” Steve told him. “Sure, you might not remember everything, but you remember what matters.”

“That you’re an idiot?” 

Steve smiled. “Well, what else would I be to drop my shield when you were doing your utmost to kill me?” 

“What else would you be to constantly fight people three times your size who could’ve easily killed you?” 

“That’s why you were there,” Steve said, shifting his position so he sat cross-legged. Bucky leaned against him. Steve put his arm around his shoulder. 

“No, because if I was there, you wouldn’t have gotten into fights in the first place. You always made sure to start them when you knew I was on my way home from work so you could get in a few good licks before I dragged your sorry ass home.” 

“Damn straight I did. I wouldn’t be able to do anything if you were there.” Steve was actually smiling like he enjoyed getting all the times he’d gotten punched. Although Bucky wouldn’t be surprised if that was the case. Steven Grant Rogers had been a strange case since before they’d become friends. 

Bucky bit his lip, caught between the desire to sequester himself, and to open a door to Steve that he’d been keeping closed. Either way, he was going through the journals tonight. He shook his head, so minutely that Steve shouldn’t have been able to see it, but he saw Steve’s eyebrows furrow just slightly. He’d had a lot of emotions while writing in each journal, mainly confusion and an underlying fear that he would be forced to become the Soldier again, but he remembered being lonely, too. He’d known this before, but it only now really sank in. He never had to be lonely again. 

“Will you sit with me when I go through these tonight?” Bucky asked quietly. 

Steve took his hand and brushed his lips against his knuckles. “Of course I will, Buck.” 

They sat like that for a few minutes, quiet. Bucky stared at the cover. Steve watched him, every once in awhile dragging his thumb across Bucky’s knuckles to keep him grounded, but otherwise saying nothing. It was small things like this that spoke to the amount of trust they showed in each other and how much they’d grown. Even just a few months ago, Bucky knew Steve would’ve attempted to pull him away and distract him. Bucky would’ve let him, afraid of the thoughts and memories that would come should he allow himself to look. But now, he knew Steve would catch him should he stumble. 

Finally, Bucky shook his head and set the notebooks aside, grabbing the remaining items from the box: a spatula, a box of bullets, and a handful of newspapers. Bucky glanced at the headlines, tossed it into the pile of garbage, and picked up the spatula. Steve kissed his hair and returned to his own pile of junk. 

“You still haven’t told me what to do with your cans,” he said. 

Bucky tossed the spatula on top of the newspaper and turned to face Steve. He was surrounded by haphazardly piled boxes of board games and puzzles, magazines, and a heap of bird figurines (they were only the ones they’d found—Bucky knew there were more. If he wasn’t wrong, Natasha had started helping Sam hide them). 

“There’s a place by the recycler’s that takes cans and actually properly disposes of them,” Bucky told him. “After we sort through everything, we’ll take them there.” 

“So where do you want me to put them?” 

“I will forever be amazed that you were able to do anything yourself when I was gone,” Bucky said. “Just put them along the wall somewhere out of the way so we can start on the pile of games.”

Steve maneuvered around both garbage and junk to place the container along an empty stretch of wall. Bucky somehow managed to step over the mess Steve had made without breaking anything (either on himself or the ground). Steve loped over to him with a grace only possible by the one who had made the mess in the first place. 

“Jesus Christ, Steve. Did no one ever teach you how to stack?” 

Every single box was facing a different direction, some sticking so far out that it was a miracle the entire pile didn’t topple. Steve just shrugged and sat beside him, plucking the first game from the top. 

“Have we ever played Battleship?” 

Six hours, three bulging trash bags, a bruised fingernail, and several petty arguments later, the basement closet was fully organized. They’d gotten rid of no less than one-hundred magazines, the game of monopoly (they’d played once when all four of them were together and the game had ended with all of them issuing death threats to the others), about twenty old cords of various purposes that they had no way to use, and an entire bucket of shitty hangers. 

Now, sweaty, slightly irritated, and highly bemused by the fact they had so much stuff, Bucky collapsed on the couch with a long sigh. Steve sat beside him, sucking on the finger that had borne the brunt of a falling box. 

“Order me food,” Bucky told him. “I’m not cooking.” 

“That would require me getting up. My phone is in my room.” 

“Tough luck. I require sustenance and I’m not moving from this couch until there’s food in front of me.” As he said it, Alpine materialized from seemingly nowhere and curled up on his lap. Not two seconds later, Aapeli jumped on the couch and leaned against him. Bucky smirked. 

“Fine.” Steve stood, disappeared for five minutes, and sat back on the couch looking slightly embarrassed. 

“You had to move everything on your desk in order to find your phone, didn’t you?” Bucky asked, knowing that look way too well. 

“I found it,” Steve said, waving it unnecessarily. “What do you want?” 

“I want to organize your desk.” 

“You’re not touching my desk. What do you want to eat?” 

“How do you even find anything on it? It’s absurd. We could at least get you a little cart or some extra drawers that you could label, and then you’d know exactly what you have and what you don’t so you don’t keep buying the exact same thing over and over again.” 

“I’m going to order food from that one place I love and you hate,” Steve said, already drawing up the menu on his phone and starting an order. 

If he didn’t have two animals on him, he would’ve plucked Steve’s phone from his hand. Instead, Bucky looked over and stuck out his bottom lip. With the hand that wasn’t trapped under Aaepli, he reached across his chest and dragged his fingers across Steve’s cheek. Steve leaned away, holding his phone out of reach. 

“Stevie?” He stuck his lip out even further. 

“You’re giving me your puppy dog face, aren’t you?” 

“Am not,” Bucky said, knowing it would make Steve look. He made sure his lip was out the furthest it could possibly be and his eyes unspeakably sad. 

As he expected, Steve turned to look and his stoic expression immediately crumpled. “It’s not fair,” he whined. “You know I can’t say no when you give me that face.” 

Bucky just batted his eyelashes. A second later, Steve’s phone was in his hands. Bucky grinned. “I love you, dear.” 

Steve just grumbled. 

An hour later, Mediterranean dishes were spread across the coffee table, mostly empty. Bucky sat in his normal spot in the corner of the couch, Steve tucked at his side. The notebooks sat on his lap.

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” Steve told him. Bucky knew how much it took him to say that; he knew how interested he was in what the notebooks held. 

“I do. I’ve meant to do this for a while.” 

He didn’t want to admit to how nervous this made him. It shamed him at how lost and childlike he’d been in those few months alone, mind fragile and volatile. There had been so many fragments of memory that he hadn’t been able to distinguish between real or mockery. Now that he had a better grasp, he wanted to remember what his brain had given him. 

But now that he was here, notebooks on his lap and Steve at his side, he couldn’t bring himself to open them. Because what if Steve was hurt when he saw how hard Bucky had needed to try to remember him? 

Soft fingers took his hand. “Buck, look at me,” Steve said quietly. 

He did and was once again struck by the infinite patience on Steve’s face. There was nothing but love in the deep blue of his eyes. “I’m here,” he said. “I’m here, and I’m never leaving. If you’re going through these just for me, don’t.” 

“I’m not,” Bucky replied, just as quietly. “This is something I need to do. It’s just-” he bit his bottom lip, not quite sure what he was trying to say. Steve’s thumb brushed over the top of his knuckles. “These are the chronicles of everything I lost, and sometimes it’s hard to reconcile with that.”

“Then don’t think of them like that. Think of them as a prelude to everything you’ve since gained.” 

Bucky nodded. They sat in silence for another few minutes. Steve never moved, never released his hand. 

_ 14 October 2014 _

_ I want to know who I am. I went to a museum today. There was an exhibit on the man they wanted me to kill. Captain America. Steve Rogers. There were photos of us together from a while ago. I wish I could say that man was me. He seemed happy. But even so, I could see the horrors in his eyes. Our eyes, I guess.  _

_ He was me, I think. A long time ago. But I don’t remember him, not really. They carved him away, memory by memory, replacing laughter with pain. They took away the man and left the monster. But that’s not who I want to be.  _

_ I say his name—our name—hoping it’ll mean something again. I remember snatches, but they’re so small I don’t know if they’re real or things my mind is creating to appease me. Damp alleys, scratched knuckles, words shouted in a language I don’t know but sounds like home. I’m left feeling empty, like the memories, if that’s what they are, don’t belong to me. Because they don’t, not really. I’m not the person in the pictures. I’m not the weapon they made me to be.  _

_ I’m _

_ I don’t know. Lost.  _

***

Steve’s grip on Bucky’s hand grew tighter and tighter the further into the notebook they delved. His anger boiled and depleted in waves. He wanted to destroy the men who’d forced this series of suffering onto Bucky; he wanted to take Bucky into his arms and never let him go again to make up for all the times he’d let him walk away. 

But this wasn’t about him. So he stayed silent. Endured the confusion and pain and occasional elation of the words that Bucky had clung desperately to. Three years ago, they were the only thing he could be sure of. 

They spent most of the night in silence, only occasionally speaking when Bucky asked if a certain memory was real or dreamt. Steve was whatever Bucky needed him to be. An anchor, a shoulder to cry on, a hand to hold. He was assurance that Bucky would never face life alone again. If he needed to remind Bucky that every day, he would. He wasn’t going anywhere. If the range of emotions he felt proved only one thing, it was how deeply he loved the man sitting next to him. And while Steve already knew there was nothing he wouldn’t do for him, watching the vulnerability on Bucky’s face as he reread the words he’d written years prior only confirmed it. If he had to defy death, so be it. Not like it would be the first time. 

They were both quiet when they went to bed that night. It was only nine when they turned out the lights. Steve held Bucky tight to his chest, listening to him breathe. It was likely that neither of them would sleep tonight, but there was no way Steve would allow him to go sit in the living room alone. 

The moon had risen substantially, patterning the window on the comforter when the silence was finally broken. 

“Steve?” 

He grunted quietly to show that he was listening. Bucky was quiet for a while longer so that Steve wondered if Bucky simply wanted to know if he was alone in being awake. He went back to letting his mind wander to years far past the one they lived now, idly allowing his thumb to brush back and forth over Bucky’s heart. 

“What would you have done if I never remembered you?”

Steve blinked. Of course, he’d thought about it. He remembered the long hours sitting with Dr. Schienbaum, voicing his fears that Bucky would never fully come back and the guilt that came with those confessions. He should just be happy with the amount Bucky had remembered. 

“Then I guess I would’ve had to do this the old fashioned way and courted you.” 

“And if I’d refused you?” 

“I’d let you go.” God forbid it ever happen, but it’s the only thing he could do. Anything more or less wouldn’t be fair to either of them. 

Steve didn’t know how to decipher the small noise Bucky made and held him all the tighter. 

“Will you tell me a story?” Bucky asked a little later. 

So, moonlight on their bed and tucked close together, Steve retold the story of the first time he’d had more than a tiny sip of coffee. Due to his heart problems, he’d been made to promise multiple times both to his ma and to Bucky that he wouldn’t drink any. After the serum, he’d been a little over-excited. It didn’t last long, but while the shit ton of caffeine was in his system, well, let’s just say it was an experience to witness Captain America look around in wonder, asking if anyone else could see the angels.    
  


When Steve woke up from a sleep that was little more than a doze, the sky was still dark. The clock on his nightstand told him it was just after five. Knowing he wasn’t going to fall back asleep and that nothing good would come from staying in bed, he kissed Bucky’s shoulder and got up. He pulled on Bucky’s favorite oversized sweatshirt as he walked into the kitchen, Eva padding beside him, and started the coffee. A few minutes later, he poured his mug and went to sit on the patio. 

It was only a few weeks ago that Bucky opened the backyard to him in the mornings. It had taken a bit of convincing to actually accept the invitation—for the year they’d lived in the house, the garden belonged almost solely to Bucky—but now that he had, his entire morning routine had changed. Rather than sitting on the couch if he woke before Bucky, he sat out here. He did nothing but sit. It was the meditation he didn’t know he needed. 

It reminded him of the stillness he’d felt in Ireland. Every morning there, he and Eva had started their walks before the sun had even risen. He’d loved those mornings. Quickly addicted to the quiet, he’d woken up earlier and earlier, either sitting in the chair by the window or pulling a thick blanket around his shoulders and sitting in the garden, just watching the dark sky gradually lighten. They’d started their walk when the horizon showed the first signs of waking up. He’d been trying to run from everything he was scared of accepting. He hadn’t wanted to return to the empty cottage knowing everything he needed was back in Brooklyn. 

The wind rustled the branches of the pine tree. His fingers wrapped around the mug. Steam curled in the air. He breathed. He didn’t have to run anymore. Everything he loved was safe inside. He could just sit and be content. And he was. 

When the sun had fully risen, Steve unfolded himself from the chair and went inside. Bucky sat at the counter, hair disheveled and looking like he’d just gotten up. Steve wrapped his arms around him and kissed him when he turned his head. He tasted the mint of their toothpaste. 

“I love you,” he murmured. If he said it twenty times a day, it still wouldn’t be enough. 

The smile Bucky gave was the one Steve loved the most, where it was almost all with his eyes. “I love you, too.” 

Steve kissed him again for good measure and went to feed the dogs. When he returned to the kitchen, Bucky was cracking eggs into a pan. It was all Steve could do to stop from laughing softly at the way his overlong sweatpants curled under his feet. Instead, he got out the bacon and put it in the skillet. 

  
“You volunteering at the shelter today?” Bucky asked, spreading blueberry jam on a piece of toast. He’d already let a few pieces of bacon “fall” to the floor for Eva and Aapeli. Steve was only mad he hadn’t been the first to let some fall. 

“Yeah. I’ll be there ten to four, or roundabouts.” 

Steve had been volunteering for the animal shelter down the road for the past two months and could not be happier with the decision. He couldn’t imagine a better day than to spend six hours with animals who deserved all the love in the world and then come home to Bucky and spend the rest of the night recounting their days. When he started school again in the fall, he was going to see if he could arrange his schedule in a way that still allowed him to volunteer.

“I’ll probably be a little later today at the garage,” Bucky told him. “Jen said something about a party, but I have no idea what that’s all about. If I’m forced to stay for longer than is required for stealing food, you’re required to make up an emergency so I can home. Although, with you home alone, you probably wouldn’t have to make anything up.” 

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” Steve said, scraping what remained of the eggs onto his plate. Eva rested her chin on his thigh, looking up at him with big eyes. Her tail wagged. Steve did his best to ignore her, but when she whined softly, his morale broke. He shoved one more forkful into his mouth and set his plate on the ground for her. 

“And I’m going to pretend I didn’t see that,” Bucky replied. 

“Oh, says the man who just accidentally dropped four pieces of perfectly good bacon on the ground in front of them.” 

“The pan was hot.” 

“The bacon was on your plate.” 

“That doesn’t change the fact that the pan was hot.” 

Steve rolled his eyes and headed into their room to get dressed for the day. Dressed in a pair of jeans and a grey t-shirt, he returned to the kitchen to find Bucky still sitting at the counter, crossword spread in front of him.

“What time are you leaving for the garage?” he asked, sitting beside him. 

“Nine,” Bucky replied, not looking up. He filled in a word. 

“Go on a walk with me?” 

Both Eva and Aapeli’s ears perked up at the word. They scrambled to their feet, tails wagging.

“You never really seem to give me a choice. I’d just be a terrible person if I denied my beautiful girl or forced her to endure your company alone.” But he was smiling. 

Steve kissed his cheek. “Get dressed.” 

“I am dressed.” 

Steve raised his eyebrows. “You’re in your pajamas.” 

“Yeah, and the last time I checked, those were clothes.” Steve raised his eyebrows even higher. Bucky grumbled. “Fine.” 

Steve leaned against the counter, watching Bucky as he headed for their room, smiling to himself. Bucky commented on his ass every chance he got, but Steve had always kept his appreciation of Bucky’s to himself. Not that he didn’t think it was fine. The number of times he’d drawn it spoke more to that than Steve might like to admit. 

Bucky looked back and saw him watching. “You better be looking at my ass,” Bucky called to him. 

“Oh, I am,” Steve replied. 

A few hours later, Steve pulled into the parking lot of the shelter. He tucked his keys into his pocket as he walked in. There was a grin on his face long before he actually entered the kennels. He made sure to spend time with every occupant. If Bucky knew how hard he had to fight himself to not adopt every single dog they helped, he would be impressed with Steve’s self-control. That being said, when he got to the end of the row and saw their newest member, he knew that self-control was gone. 

A small pitbull lay with her nose pressed against the fencing. The eyes that looked up at him when he kneeled in front of her broke his heart. She whimpered. When he pressed his fingers against the chain link to let her catch his scent, she kissed them. Without any hesitation, Steve stood and let himself in her enclosure, moving slowly the entire time as to not startle her. He sat against the wall, letting every decision thereafter be hers. 

It didn’t take long for him to understand why she’d been lying down when he first came up to her. She was missing her left foreleg. Steve didn’t know if she was born without it, or had lost it due to injury, but he was vividly reminded of the man he’d kissed goodbye a few hours prior. 

His supervisor found him an hour later, sitting against the wall with her head on his stomach, just staring up at him with her liquid eyes, her tail wagging the entire time. He signed the adoption papers not ten minutes later. If Bucky was mad about it, he’d just tell him to look in her eyes. 

***

“Before you say anything, it’s not my fault.” 

Bucky hadn’t even fully entered the house when Steve called out to him from the living room. Sighing and resigning himself to the worst, Bucky dropped his keys on the hook and slowly walked into the living room to see what his dumb idiot had done this time. It would at least be a distraction from his shitty day at work. 

He wasn’t surprised to see Steve sprawled out on the couch, dog on his chest. He blinked. Eva was on the ground beside the couch, head on her paws. 

“Steven,” Bucky said, as calmly as he could manage. “Didn’t I tell you before you accepted the volunteer position that you weren’t allowed to bring home another animal?” 

“You did.” 

“So what, you came home to find a dog just sitting at our front door?”

“Buck, I couldn’t leave her there. She belongs with us.” 

As angry as he was pretending to be, Bucky couldn’t deny that she was beautiful. Her coat, though ragged in some places, was a light blue-grey, apart from the white star on her chest. Bucky came to kneel beside the couch, being careful not to step on Eva. 

“What’s her name?” he asked. 

“Daisy.” 

She wagged her tail at the mention of her name, never once taking her gaze from Steve. If Bucky wasn’t wrong, she would stay there forever unless she was made to move. By the way Steve looked at her, Bucky knew he would never have the heart to ask her to. Eva wouldn’t be the only one jealous. The spot over Steve’s heart was his place. 

“What made you so sure that she belonged with us?” 

Steve slowly made his way into a sitting position, shifting Daisy until he was able to stand. With a pat on his leg, she jumped off and sat on the floor, leaning against his leg, and giving Bucky a clear view of her missing limb. Without a word, Bucky turned away and went to sit in the garden, leaving Aapeli inside. 

Bucky knew he was acting the ass. Of course there was no better home for a three-legged pitbull than theirs. He just couldn’t help but think-

“I’m not replacing you, Bucky.” Steve sat beside him, leaving space between them. Bucky hated that Steve knew him well enough to not only know what he was thinking but also that physical comfort of any kind would cause him to spiral. That didn’t mean he didn’t want it, though. Neither of them moved. 

“I know.” Because he did. That didn’t mean there was a small part that believed it though. 

“I couldn’t just leave her.” 

“I know.” 

“Then tell me what’s going on.” 

“Nothing.” 

“Buck.” 

“Steve, please. Just leave it. Please.” 

Looking deeply unhappy, Steve pushed himself to his feet and went inside. Bucky drew his knees to his chest and rested his forehead on them, breathing deeply. The day had started so well. When he woke to an empty bed, there hadn’t been any panic; he’d known exactly where Steve was. He’d taken his time getting up, reveling in the series of surprisingly good dreams he’d had. When he’d seen how peaceful Steve looked out in the garden, Bucky had known he’d made the right choice in opening it up to him. 

Aapeli nosed him. He instructed her to lay down. She did so with a soft whine. 

The first few hours of work had been wonderful. Jen had given him another bike to repair from the ground up. But then he’d had to turn on the radio. With nothing new to talk about, they’d returned to the discussion that never failed to end. Him. There had even been a multitude of callers to come and voice their opinion. Unable to get up and turn it off, he’d listened to a host of mothers talk about how they would never feel safe unless he was put behind bars. After all, that’s where dangerous criminals belonged. Bucky just knew he was lucky that New York had abolished capital punishment years ago. Not that it had mattered to some people. A few bold voices had stated exactly what they would do if they were to find him.

He’d left work early, not able to take the stares of his co-workers. The worst thing was that he knew he was making more of them than was there. Most of the people he worked with had served in one way or another. All he’d wanted was to come home and just sit with his mind for a while. Sit and attempt to process and then order his favorite bad takeout, curl on the couch with his dumb idiot and watch a movie they’d seen maybe three-hundred times. That wasn’t going to happen anymore. 

He wasn’t even upset that Steve had brought home another dog even though they really didn’t have the room. It had just taken him more off guard than anything. What upset him the most was that he didn’t know why he was upset. He’d learned before the war to not care what people said about him; it didn’t matter; they didn’t know him. 

All of that was a lie and he knew it. It had always bothered him. He just wasn’t willing to admit it. 

***

Steve watched helplessly from the other side of the glass. Eva whined softly at his side. He rubbed her ears.  It went against every fiber of his being to leave Bucky out there alone, knowing that he was deeply upset. But he needed to trust Bucky to know what was best for him. He had asked Steve to leave him be, so no matter how much it hurt, Steve would. For a little while, at least. 

He turned away and patted his leg, Eva and Daisy following at his heels. After placing an order for Bucky’s favorite trash take-out, he settled himself back on the couch where he could easily keep an eye on the garden while also giving the space Bucky had requested. As she had before, Daisy lay almost entirely on top of him, never once looking away. Eva looked up from her place on the floor and grumbled, thumping her tail. Steve chuckled and pet her the best he could from his awkward position. When she settled, he grabbed his book and continued to read, looking up every so often to check on the unmoving figure of Bucky. 

It was an awkward moment when there was a knock on the door, announcing the arrival of their food. Daisy had finally fallen asleep, and Eva had jumped up to lay herself on his legs. The knock came again. Steve was about to commit the crime of moving not just one, but two, sleeping animals, when Bucky came in from the garden. The knock came for the third time. Bucky looked to Steve, who muttered “food.” 

“Where do you want me to sleep tonight?” Steve had chewed on the words for the first ten minutes of their silent dinner. 

“What?” Bucky looked genuinely confused when he turned his head. 

“You asked for space, so I’m asking how much.” Steve couldn’t read the expression that lined Bucky’s face after he said that. He took another bite of his greasy burger for something to do. 

“You’ve given me what I needed,” Bucky told him. “But if I’m quiet tonight or tomorrow, if it looks like I’m lost in my head, just let me be. I’m okay, I just- I don’t know.” 

Steve reached over and took Bucky’s hand in his. With his pointer finger, he lightly tapped the back of it three times. Bucky furrowed his brows slightly. “If you want me to distract you, just do that.”

Bucky nodded and took his hand back. They continued to eat in silence, but this time, it was comfortable. 

They went to bed early again that night. After not sleeping the night before and whatever it was Bucky was going through, they were drained. Even so, Steve knew it would be a while before his brain turned off. So rather than forcing it, he kept his bedside light on and continued reading. Daisy had jumped up on the bed and lay nestled between them, her head once again on Steve’s chest. (They were going to need to have a conversation once Bucky was ready to cuddle again, because as much as Steve already adored her, the space over his heart belonged to the man beside him). Eva and Aapeli had taken the invitation as was and joined them as well. Their queen-sized bed was quickly mirroring the bed seen in the children’s book  _ The Napping House.  _

Bucky was on his side facing away from Steve. Steve knew it was because Bucky didn’t want him to see his face. 

“It was the radio,” Bucky said an hour later. 

“What?” 

“I turned on the radio at work and J.J Jameson had a segment. He and a bunch of callers voiced their opinions on me.”

“Oh.” Steve didn’t know what he could say other than that. It wasn’t as if he had any advice to give on the matter, not when he himself still struggled with it. He’d made progress, but only some. 

Bucky didn’t say anything else other than that. A few minutes later, Steve turned his light off and situated himself more comfortably on his back. Daisy didn’t move an inch. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d fallen asleep without touching Bucky. It was no surprise to him when he didn’t sleep well. 

The next two days were indeed quiet. They went to work and came home, same as always. Bucky cooked them dinner and they cleaned up side by side. If someone were to look in on them, all they would see was that they were tired. Steve tried incredibly hard to believe that was all there was to it, but Bucky hadn’t gone this quiet in months. He was always in the garden when Steve woke, and despite the invitation, Steve let him be. Steve needed to trust that Bucky would let him know when he needed a distraction. Hard as it was, he was going to respect that. He needed to respect that they both had different ways of coping. 

What really got to him was the fact that he still hadn’t taken the time to get to know Daisy. When they were forced to take a few breaks on walks, Bucky turned the other way, hands deep in his pockets. Even though he’d told Steve he understood why he’d brought her home and that he wasn’t mad, Steve couldn’t help but think he’d only exacerbated the problem. 

When he sat on the couch three nights after the incident, journal on his knees and pen dangling from his fingers trying to figure out how to start writing out his thoughts and emotions of the day (Dr. Scheinbaum had suggested he try it when he saw her the other day), he didn’t expect Bucky to join him. He didn’t expect Bucky to take his hand and tap it three times. 

Steve closed his journal on the page devoid of anything apart from the date, set it on the coffee table and opened his arms. Bucky immediately snuggled close. Steve sighed deeply, cheek resting against his hair. Three days without contact was too much. He started talking, not positive if anything he said made a lick of sense; there was so much he’d held back about his days that tried to spill out at the same time. At one point, he switched into Irish, and not noticing because it wasn’t what he was saying that mattered. All he was doing was expelling the silence. It was something he was incredibly good at. Bucky had used to complain about it when they were kids; he hadn’t understood how a kid with lungs as compromised as his could talk without cease. 

Daisy had taken the spot she claimed as hers before Bucky got into bed that night. With a grumble, Bucky conceded that there was no moving her. (Not that Steve had tried very hard—she was just too cute when she slept, her tongue out just a smidge). So rather than their normal positioning, they made do with facing each other, (well, Bucky facing him, Steve couldn’t move), fingers intertwined. With Eva and Aapeli also on the bed, it was all they could do. 

When Steve woke the next morning, he was curled up on the very edge of the bed with zero covers on him. Snores from his right told him that he wasn’t alone. When he rolled over to his other side (somewhat easily (most suspicious considering the number of bodies on their bed)) he had to fight back a laugh. Bucky lay curled on his side, mouth slightly open, Daisy tucked under his chin. Aapeli had also wormed her way into the pile, her head on the pillow directly beside Bucky’s. Eva, who must have been feeling left out, lay directly next to Aapeli, facing Steve. 

They would need to figure out the sleeping arrangements, but if this is how Steve woke up every morning now on, well, he wouldn’t really have a problem with it. 


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They’re just a couple of dudes being guys, just a couple of guys being dudes, just a couple of dudes being gay. Or, it’s PRIDE motherfucker

June rolled around and the weather grew hot. While Steve loved the heat—always had, but even more so now that he was always so cold—the dogs couldn’t stand it. They spent the evenings in the shade of the backyard, playing in the large pool Bucky had brought home a few days ago after therapy. 

It was where they found themselves on the evening of June 4th. They’d just finished a scrumptious dinner of grilled salmon on a bed of rice. Steve was laying on his back, watching the sky through the branches of the pine. The sun had just started to set, sending long streaks of pink into the rich blue. Bucky was with his flowers, some of which had just started to bloom. He was humming to himself. Steve smiled to himself and closed his eyes. The wind blew softly, playing over his face. After years of stress and fear, this was what he deserved. And he finally had it. He breathed out. He breathed in. 

And then water exploded in his face. Steve opened his eyes and sat up slowly, peeling the remains of the water-balloon from where it clung to his cheeks. Bucky whistled from his place by the lavender bush. Steve grabbed the hose from where it was neatly piled by the side of the house, turned on the water, and proceeded to blast Bucky in the back of the head. It was apparently what Bucky had been waiting for because no sooner than the stream hit him, he turned and pelted another balloon across the garden. With accuracy that only came from his years as the army’s greatest sniper (and seventy-years as an assassin), it hit Steve in the face as he dove for cover. 

What resulted was a water fight for the ages. Bucky had apparently filled and hidden over a hundred water-balloons around the garden while Steve had been running a few errands. Eva, Aapeli, and Daisy all got in on it as well. They jumped through the stream of water he was attempting to keep trained on Bucky, meaning what ended up hitting him was pitiful. Steve, on the other hand, was drenched. It was one of the only times he despised Bucky’s uncanny ability to know exactly where he would be. 

The tide of the fight started to change when Steve found a hidden stash beneath the hydrangeas. No longer solely confined to the questionable stream of the hose, he could employ his own ability to know precisely just how to throw something to hit his intended mark. So it was that expert sniper and shield master faced off in the tiny backyard of their Brooklyn home. 

It was embarrassing how long it took Steve to understand why Bucky had requested he wear a white shirt that day. By the time they had exhausted all their ammo, there wasn’t an inch of him that was dry. His shirt clung to him, almost entirely see-through. By now, though, Bucky was also incredibly drenched, so Steve at least felt vindicated. 

The dogs flopped on the ground, panting heavily. Steve collapsed beside them, draping an arm over his eyes to block out the sun which was in the precise location to pierce through the branches of the pine and blind him. Bucky lay beside him, propping himself up on his elbow. From the corner of his eye, Steve could see the happy little smirk on Bucky’s face. There was no use in putting up a fight as it spread across Steve’s face as well. Bucky leaned over him, the hand not propping him up tracing Steve’s jaw. 

“Have I told you how pretty you are yet today?” he asked. Steve wouldn’t have needed to see anything but Bucky’s eyes to know his happiness. 

“Not yet.” 

Bucky’s thumb now traced the outline of Steve’s lips. Butterflies erupted in Steve’s stomach, the same as when he’d first realized he loved the man beside him. 

“You’re-” Bucky laughed softly, shaking his head. “It’s kind of unfair how beautiful you are.” 

Steve lifted his arm to cup Bucky’s cheek, thumb sweeping over his cheekbone. Bucky leaned into it, eyes closed. “Have you looked at yourself in the mirror, Buck? It’s not just kind of unfair, it’s wholly unfair at how beautiful you are.” 

Bucky kissed his thumb. Steve slid his hand to the back of Bucky’s head and pulled him close. The first kiss was soft and gentle, full of unspeakable love. The second (and subsequent others) were deeper. 

If Steve could capture any moment to relive years down the line, it would be this. Picture this, if you will: two men who faced the absolute pits of hell laying in a backyard smelling of blooming lilac, the sky full of deep blues, pinks, and purples, and mourning doves cooing a couple of houses down. To describe the scene as anything but absolute bliss would be blasphemy. 

After changing into dry clothes (old t-shirts and sweatpants), they returned to the garden, spreading a large blanket over the ground. They lay on their backs, fingers intertwined, watching the sky as it darkened. Smoke from a campfire a few houses down wafted over them. Crickets chirped from the bushes at the edge of the garden. 

They talked about things that didn’t matter. Which, to be honest, is an incorrect manner of describing it because they mattered quite a bit. A better way is to say that what they spoke about had no consequences in one way or another. 

It wasn’t quite possible to see the stars this close to the city, but Steve reached up with the hand holding Bucky’s and pointed out Orion anyway. When he lowered it, he brought Bucky’s hand to his lips and kissed his knuckles. 

When they finally went inside, it was past midnight. Neither of them had wanted to break the feeling of peace that had hovered over the garden, so they hadn’t. The dogs were all asleep on the couch. Eva lifted her head when they passed, but when Steve motioned for her to stay, she closed her eyes again and sighed deeply, stretching more comfortably on the couch. It was the first night in weeks that they fell asleep in each other’s arms. 

***

“Have you gotten the mail yet today?” Steve asked, walking from his room with his sketchbook tucked under his arm.

“You expecting something?” Bucky looked up from his book. 

“Just wondering since I’m by the door.” 

“When was the last time you saw me move from this couch today?” Bucky asked. He’d sat down shortly after lunch. Alpine had curled herself right under his chin soon after, purring contentedly. It was now close to four. All he heard in response was the door open and close, and then open and close. 

“Anything good?” he called when he heard nothing. 

“This might be.” 

Bucky saw Steve toss a handful of envelopes onto the counter and come to sit beside him. With a groan, Bucky sat up, stretching his back. Alpine looked at him in disgust and stalked away, tail high. His spine popped and he sat with a sigh against Steve, who held a fancy-looking envelope in his hands. Both of their names were written in a vaguely familiar cursive. With a shrug, Steve opened it and pulled out its contents. 

“She finished then,” Bucky said, staring at the invitation to the showing of Katie’s project. 

“Guess so.” 

Steve stared at the invitation with a strange look on his face. His eyebrows were furrowed just slightly, and he appeared to be looking past the cardstock. And then Bucky realized what this showing meant. Just because they’d given their express permission more than once didn’t mean there wasn’t apprehension. He folded Steve’s hand in his. Steve blinked, slowly lifting his head to look at Bucky.

“Are you ready for everybody to know about us?” Bucky asked. Once it got out, Bucky knew it would spread like wildfire. 

Steve nodded, just a small shake of his head. “I’ve actually been thinking about that a lot,” he said. His foot started tapping an erratic rhythm. 

“Steve, what is it?”

It took a minute, but Steve eventually spoke. “Ever since I admitted to myself how I felt about you, I’ve kept one small fragment of a-I don’t know, it’s not a dream, not really, but it’s something I think about often. I never thought it would be possible because I didn’t know how comfortable you’d be with the idea, but that part wouldn’t matter anymore because of Katie’s project..”

“Steve, speak plainly.” Bucky had learned a long time ago to tell him this. Steve had a masterful talent of weaving a tale without actually telling it. Unless Bucky specifically asked him to say what he actually meant, Steve would oftentimes leave the conversation with Bucky still incredibly confused as to what they had been talking about. 

Steve looked at Bucky again, his foot still tapping. “I want to go to the Pride Parade with you.” 

Bucky felt the smile on his face growing. “Okay.” 

Steve’s foot stalled. “Wait, really?” 

“Did you think I would say no to showing the world just how big of a dork in love you are?”

“I just thought with crowds.”

“In this case, bigger the better,” Bucky said. “The world sees us only one way. It’s time that changes. And Steve, just imagine little kids looking up and seeing Captain America marching side by side with them.”

“Well, when you put it like that.”  
Bucky continued like he didn’t hear Steve. “And after all, you _are_ the face of America. I think it’s your duty to show the world just how gay America is.” 

“No more hiding,” Steve agreed. 

Bucky leaned forward and kissed Steve. There were times (and this was one of them) that he was still amazed that he could just do this. He didn’t have to think about it. Rather than a source of his anxiety, kissing Steve now quelled it. For just a moment, the world stopped. 

Steve’s hand brushed over his shoulder. That was all it took for Bucky to have the idea. He had no idea if it was possible, if she could finish it in time, but it was worth a shot. He pressed one last kiss to Steve’s lips and pushed himself off the couch. As he walked to his room, Alpine jumped up to sit on his shoulder again, purring loudly. He was obviously forgiven. 

It didn’t take long to find what he was looking for. Unlike Steve’s, Bucky’s desk was impeccably organized. He allowed himself a second to stare at the watercolor portrait Steve had given to him. It was his favorite out of all the ones Steve had shown him; the one where he was in the garden at sunset, laughing. He wanted to put it on the wall, but Steve still wouldn’t let him. Brushing his thumb over the thick parchment, he picked up his phone and sent a quick text. 

Ten minutes later, everything was arranged. Bucky returned to the living room smiling. Steve looked up from his sketchbook. 

“Everything good?” he asked. 

“Yeah,” Bucky replied, sitting back on the couch and letting Steve get comfortable against his chest. There were only the barebones of an outline on the page Steve was working on, but Bucky had seen enough of his work to have an idea of what it was. He kissed the top of Steve’s head. “Everything’s good.”

-

The day of Katie’s showing started with Bucky waking up from a dream that was the strange mix of nightmare and pleasant. Unsure of how he felt, he rolled over and spent the next few minutes watching Steve’s face. Watching Steve Rogers sleep was something Bucky had been doing since they were kids. There was a meditation to it; the steady breathing, the peaceful expression. It was a small bubble of peace, like as long as he kept this moment alive, nothing bad could happen. 

Bucky shifted onto his back a while later. As if Steve knew, he moved so his head was on Bucky’s chest. Bucky kissed his hair and went back to sleep. If he dreamed, he didn’t remember them in the morning. 

** **

“What does one wear to a capstone showing?” Steve asked later that day. He’d been standing in front of their closet for the past fifteen minutes, passing up shirt after shirt. 

“Clothes,” Bucky replied, turning the page in his book without looking up at Steve. 

“Has anyone ever told you just how helpful you are?” 

“No.” He looked up to see that Steve was throwing him a scathing look. 

“That’s because you aren’t.” 

“That’s because you’re thirty-two, Steve. You should be able to pick up your outfits without help.” And then Bucky remembered the photos he’d seen of Steve wearing pleated khakis and god-awful unfitted button-downs. Without a second thought, he hopped off the bed, pushed Steve away, and started looking through shirts. 

Now, Bucky wouldn’t consider himself a fashion expert per se, but he _ had _ watched countless hours of both _ Project Runway _ and _ Queer Eye for the Straight Guy _, so he liked to believe he had at least a little bit of knowledge under his belt. He pulled out a pair of black jeans, a blue button-down, and a light grey sweater. 

“Simple but elegant.” He returned to the bed while Steve changed and then helped him with the cuffing of his sleeves. 

“Thank you, Buck.” 

Steve kissed his cheek and Bucky went over to the dresser, picking up Steve’s watch. With the same tenderness he’d seen his ma provide his father, he slipped it on his wrist. 

“That’s what you wear to a showcase,” Bucky told him. Of course, he had no idea what one wore to these things, but Steve looked good. Nothing too casual, but not over the top. And not embarrassing. That was the most important part. 

Not fifteen minutes later, they were in the car driving to E 21st Street. Katie greeted them at the entrance to the building and led them through long hallways into a large gallery. Seven other students milled about, some with guests, some alone. Steve drew Eva closer. Bucky gave him a reassuring squeeze of the hand. 

“The actual showing starts at 7:30,” Katie was telling them as they crossed to the far side of the room where there were about twenty framed photos on the wall, some with captions, others left free hanging. On the left of all the photos, large letters spelled out the title _ THIS IS US. _

“I just thought you might like to see the final product before everyone else shows up,” Katie finished as they reached the project. “You know, in case you didn’t want to be here when everyone else is. Graduate showcases can get pretty crowded.” 

“Thank you, Katie,” Steve murmured. 

“I’ll leave you some space. Just call me over if you need me or have questions on anything.” She went to talk with another young woman. 

Bucky released his hold on Steve’s hand so they could go through the photos at their own pace. Aapeli leaned against his leg as he stood in front of the first. It was one of the ones they’d taken in the park, right after Katie had told them to act like friends. His arm was around Steve’s shoulder and his head thrown back in laughter. Steve looked pleased with himself. 

> _ Our first meeting, well. I believe it was June of 1925. Steve was almost seven—I can almost guarantee you that he’ll give you a completely different account of this. Steve was almost seven and even then he was getting into fights. He’ll say he was doing what was right and if I contradict him he’ll just mutter something in Irish at me. But he’s not here now, so I’ll tell you. He was doing something stupid. _
> 
> _ I was walking home and I heard something in the alley, so being a fearless eight-year-old, I decided to check it out. And that was when I found a skinny punk of a kid wiping blood from his nose while he stood in front of this little girl. After scaring off the asshat and making sure the girl was okay, I taught Steve to throw a punch. I don’t want to know how long this punk had been punching with his thumb inside his fist. The first person he properly punched was me. Still kind of proud of that. _

> _ The first time we met? Well, Bucky’s going to say I was doing something stupid. He’s going to say I didn’t know how to throw a punch. Okay, so maybe that part is true, and as much as I would love to pretend otherwise, it’s not like I was getting in a lot of punches anyway. _
> 
> _ It was June of ‘25, I think. There was this kid that I’d seen picking on a friend of mine a few times. I always knew that she was picked on because she was friends with me, but I didn’t think about that at the time. But this day, I wasn’t with my ma when I saw it happening, and the next thing I knew, I was in front of her and taking the punches. A few minutes later, another boy comes in and I think I’m going to have to fight both of them. But he punches the other guy square in the face and chases him crying out of the alley. Goes to check on my friend. He’s still ignoring me at this point. Finally, he turns to me and says “Can I please teach you how to throw a punch?” If he knew what he was doing, what he was releasing into the world, I’m sure he wouldn’t have dared. _
> 
> ** **

The next few were uncaptioned. Them with Eva and Aapeli, Steve carrying him bridal style into the house. And then they were in the house. Steve sketching, Bucky reading. 

> _ People like to say the ‘30s were different, and I guess they were, but honestly? This is how we spent a lot of our afternoons. After Steve decided he wanted to be an artist, you never saw him without some kind of art pad on him. Sketched anything and everything. And it kept him out of trouble, so I couldn’t complain. Only thing I’d change was adding air conditioning. _

> _ These were always the days I liked the most. If I’m being honest, most of them happened after I’d had a fight. Bucky was making sure I didn’t leave the apartment and get myself into more trouble. So he’d sit and read while I sketched. Occasionally we talked, but it was really just this. If Bucky could see my sketchbooks from back then...well, actually. No. Not much has changed. So, he knows. _

And then came the portraits. It was clear in Steve’s he had no idea Katie was taking a photo. He was looking down, his smile the one that signaled he was about to laugh. He wore his favorite cable knit sweater. Once again, Bucky was blown away at just how lucky he was. 

> _ When did I know I loved him? Honestly, I knew there was something different about the punk the first time I saw him. He musta been what, forty pounds, and he was trying to take on a kid at least seventy. He’s a handful, but it’s because his heart is so big. _
> 
> _ But when did I know I loved him? I think it was when I was sixteen. We were at my place because it had a good view of the bridge and Steve wanted to work on his architecture. I remember the sun coming out from behind the cloud and just lighting him from behind. And then he looked up, charcoal smudges all over his nose, and just smiled. I’d always thought him beautiful, but that moment...yeah, that was it. _

Bucky’s portrait wasn’t the one he expected Katie to have chosen. Since seeing it, he’d been expecting her to use the one that exposed all the scarring on his back. Because while people knew his story now, they didn’t know the extent of the torture that came with it. He expected the one with the scarring because this project was about telling their story. 

But he couldn’t help but be incredibly happy at the one she did choose. He was in a tank top, armless, hair in a messy knot. He faced away from the camera, but his expression was still captured in the glass. Eyes closed. Simply breathing. 

> _ When did I know? I think the falling and the realizing were two different things. I was so used to people being friends with me out of pity that I didn’t want to get super comfortable. But there was something different about Bucky, I guess. Never treated me differently. Let me do the stupid stuff that I really shouldn’t have done just to prove to me that I shouldn’t do it. _
> 
> _ I realized when I was maybe sixteen? Bucky had just pulled me out of the worst fight I’d been in. Honestly, I don’t think it’s an exaggeration to say he saved my life that day. The entire time he was patching me up, he was giving me the usual tirade. The nights after a fight, he always stayed over. Made sure I stayed in bed and didn’t get up to finish what I’d started. This night, I was supposed to be asleep, but my busted rib made it a pain. When Bucky came in and sat on the edge of my bed, I made sure I was pretending. He just started to talk. To this day I don’t know if he knew he was speaking out loud. And then he kissed my forehead, whispered, ‘I can’t lose you’, and went back to sit in the kitchen with my ma. I don’t know why that made me realize, but that’s how. _

There were a few other photos that Bucky barely glanced at. They were just more of them at home, living their life. (The one of Steve singing along to the Proclaimers, and the series of them in laughter were there). It was the final photo that captured his full, undivided attention. It was one that hadn’t been included in their box. Bucky wondered if she wanted to keep it a surprise of if she’d forgotten she’d taken it.

Black and white, it was just a close up of their hands, fingers loosely intertwined. Somehow, even without them fully in it, it was the most intimate of all. 

> _Loving Him is the Easiest Thing I’ve Ever Done. _

It took Bucky a few minutes to tear himself away from the final photo. He went back to the start, now just looking at all the photos. Three times he did this, noticing different details with each pass. The way Steve was always touching him in one way or another, even if it was just his foot on his calf as they were stretched out on the couch. There was another reflection in the portrait of himself; he had to look closely to see it, but Steve’s reaction was captured; a soft look of happiness.

The simple elegance of the photos Katie had chosen was that none of them expressed anything explicitly intimate, but they left no room for interpretation. They showed nothing other than the life of two men finally allowed to live the life they’d run from their entire life. It was naked honesty. To see it laid out plain like it was was a strange thing, but it also made him so much more grateful for the life he now had. 

When he finally pulled himself away, the rest of the world seemed to come back in full force. He became aware of Aapeli at his side, of Steve talking quietly with someone to his right, of the general noise in the background. At some point (Bucky didn’t even know how long he’d spent immersed in the quiet world of their life) the gallery had gotten busier. There were a few others looking at the photos, and realizing he was in the way, Bucky went to stand by Steve. He was speaking with who Bucky now recognized as Katie’s mother. Steve put his arm around his waist, pressed a kiss to his cheek, and continued with his conversation. 

Bucky tried to keep his mind on what was going on around him, but it kept wandering back to the final photo. He didn’t know why he loved it so much; maybe because of its simplicity. The rest of the gallery faded into background noise again. It was why it took for a tugging on his jacket to see a certain six-year-old trying to get his attention. 

Bucky dropped to a crouch. “How’s my favorite superhero doing?” he asked. 

Nicholas smiled shyly. “Good.” 

Bucky ruffled his hair and stood up, his knees protesting. Without a second thought, he hoisted Nicholas onto his hip and let himself be directed around the room. It was harder to dissociate when there was a little kid constantly pointing out everything. 

***

Steve couldn’t help the goofy, in-love smile he knew he wore when he saw Bucky quietly talking with Nicholas, who was secured on his hip. They’d become quite a team over the past few months. 

Katie walked over and grinned as well when she saw the sight. “You know, he’s taken to calling you Uncle Bucky and Steve.”

Steve laughed. “Is babysitting four times all it takes to join a family now?” 

“When you’re being watched by Captain America and the Winter Soldier and you’re six? I’m surprised it took as long as it did.” 

They watched in silence for a few more seconds. Steve rubbed one of Eva’s ears between his thumb and pointer finger. “I loved the final spread, by the way.” 

Katie smiled, tucking her hair back behind her ears. “Yeah?” 

Steve nodded, looking back at the wall of photos that had garnered more viewers. It was still a few minutes from 7:30. He couldn’t imagine how full the room would get when the showing actually started. 

“You didn’t choose the photos I expected you to, and I think that’s what I like the most.”

She looked sideways at him. “I was really nervous about that, actually. I went through like twenty different spreads before landing on this one. Actually ended on one where you kissed in most of them. It took me a while to realize that was the problem. When I realized that it was the easy way out, I was able to really dig in and figure out how to tell a story that allowed people to get to know _ you _. I still wanted to give you the chance to tell the world.” 

Steve blinked, not knowing that was something he’d worried about until she said it. “Thank you.”

“Of course. And really, I should be the one thanking you. You gave me everything; all I needed to do was figure out how to tell your story.” 

They talked for a bit longer, Bucky and Nicholas joining them. When 7:30 rolled around, she thanked them again and extracted herself from the conversation, going to stand beside the last photo, ready to answer any questions that might come up. 

Steve leaned closer to Bucky. “Want to get out of here?” he murmured. 

Bucky looked grateful. “Yeah.” He crouched down to get on Nicholas’ level again and told him to go over to his sister. Nicholas looked dejected but hugged both of them.

“Thank you for spending time with me, Uncle Bucky.” And with nothing more, he scurried over to Katie, who put her hand on his head, smiled at the two of them, and continued talking with the two older women in front of her. 

“I’m invisible,” Steve said, feigning shock. 

“It’s good for the ego to get knocked down a few times,” Bucky told him, taking his hand and leading him through the thickening crowd. “You know, makes you remember you’re still just a punk.” 

“You know that makes you the jerk,” Steve replied.

They were laughing when they left the building. Steve headed to the car, but Bucky pulled him back, gesturing with his head to the sidewalk. “Let’s go for a walk.” 

So they did, taking comfort in the feel of each other’s hand and the sound of New York in the background. When they passed the small deli boasting to sell the best ice cream in the city, it was Steve who tugged on Bucky’s hand and gestured with his head. Bucky answered with a wide smile. 

Eating cones piled high with Rocky Road and a flavor called Moose Tracks (Steve had elected to try it after a dare from Bucky and was very pleased with his decision—it was delicious), they continued their wandering, no destination in mind. It was one of those nights that only called for being outside. Having a plan would ruin the feeling of just being a part of everything, of letting the details go and just trusting that things would be okay. 

A park came into view and they both turned onto the path that would take them into it. They were soon walking around a small lake. It was surprisingly empty, considering how beautiful the night was. Steve stopped and took a moment to take in the view, walking as close to the shore as he could. Bucky hung back a bit. The water was still as glass; if it stretched into the distance, Steve knew he would’ve had a hard time distinguishing where the water ended and the sky began. 

He looked back to see Bucky staring at him, eyes soft and smile small. Steve’s stomach twisted and fluttered. He was in deep, he’d always known that, but it was moments like this that proved just how deep. But if this was drowning, Steve found he really didn’t care. Bucky kissed him when he returned to his side and Steve kissed him back, not caring if anyone saw them. It wasn’t like they were trying to hide. 

They continued walking after a while and Steve kept sneaking looks at Bucky like they were on a first date and he had yet to gather the courage to tell Bucky he was beautiful. Occasionally Bucky would catch him staring and lift Steve’s hand to his lips. 

It still struck Steve at moments that this was his life now. He walked around lakes at sunset with the man he loved and didn’t care who saw. He laughed when Aapeli saw a squirrel and jumped forward, causing Bucky to drop the last of the ice cream he was just about to pop into his mouth. He was happy, no strings attached. 

It seemed too soon that they reached the bridge that would circle them back to the entrance of the park. Steve was reluctant to cross it. He slowed while Bucky continued and their arms stretched until only their fingertips remained connected. Bucky looked back at him and tugged him forward. Steve did so slowly, only because it would bring him closer to Bucky. 

He leaned against the railing, Eva pressed up against his leg, watching a pair of ducks swim under the bridge. Bucky stood beside him, shoulders pressed together. 

“What are you thinking about?” Bucky asked. It was the first time they’d spoken in a while. The sky had turned a deep purple. Steve wanted to draw it, to capture this moment in any way possible as to make it last forever. 

Steve continued facing the lake, looking at Bucky out of the corner of his eye so all he saw was a blurry outline. “That I don’t want this moment to end,” he said truthfully. “That if the dogs weren’t here, I’d say we just never stop walking.” 

“But think about how much life we’d miss if we only stayed in this moment.” 

Steve turned his head. “Is that Dr. Scheinbaum I hear?” 

Bucky smiled and laughed softly. “Guess all this therapy is finally paying off.” He was quiet for a moment. “And I think a while ago I would’ve said the same thing because this moment is kind of ridiculously perfect and why end it for the unknown of the future? But now I think I’m more excited for that future, for finding more of these moments with you, than just clinging to one.” 

Steve let the words settle before he replied. “You’re right, as usual.” 

“A tragic curse, but someone has to bear the responsibility.” 

Steve rolled his eyes and shoved him with his shoulder. Bucky chuckled. 

“Is it okay if we stay here a little longer, though? I’m not ready to give this up quite yet.” 

Bucky nodded, and they continued leaning against the bridge. When Steve shyly asked if they could maybe take a picture, Bucky took out his phone and expertly framed the shot, capturing everything from the deepening sky to Steve’s small smile of bliss when kissed on the cheek. 

The stars were out by the time they made it back to the car. As always, Steve found himself pointing out Orion. He would probably always do it. Bucky drove. Steve held his hand the entire way home. 

Daisy was all wagging tail and slobbery kisses when they walked through the front door. Steve sank to the floor, allowing her to clamber all over him. Bucky scratched her ears and walked to the bathroom. When Steve’s face was thoroughly coated in Pitbull spit, he pushed himself off the ground, and went to their room to change into pajamas. 

The lights stayed on for a little longer after they both got into bed, Bucky securing his place at Steve’s side before Daisy could steal it. When the lights were extinguished, they talked for a bit longer, discussing their favorite photos and the captions; the stories they’d known the others hadn’t known. Steve turned so his head was in the crook between Bucky’s neck and shoulder. Light lips brushed his forehead. Soft fingers stroked his hair. 

The last thought Steve had before falling asleep was that Bucky was right: it was good that they left the bridge when they did, because he wouldn’t have missed this perfect moment for anything. 

** - **

“So tell me, what’s going on in the life of Steve Rogers these days?” 

He sat in the brightly lit office of Dr. Scheinbaum, the first time in weeks not nervous to be doing so. Eva sat between his legs, her tongue out in a smile. “It’s not like you don’t see me every week,” he said. 

“That’s a hundred and sixty-seven hours I don’t know about,” she replied, voice light. “And I must say, I’m invested in your saga.” 

“That’s a comforting thing to hear coming from the mouth of your therapist,” Steve muttered, but he couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face. 

“So, what are we talking about today?” 

“Things have been good,” Steve admitted. “Things have been really good.” 

And they had been. This was the longest stretch he’d gone without having a nightmare. Every morning he woke up with Bucky beside him; most of the time Bucky was still asleep, but there were times when Steve woke up to Bucky watching him, happiness palpable. Every night they cooked dinner together, Steve getting more competent in the kitchen with each new meal he helped with (he would never be as comfortable as Bucky, but he was a long way off from setting powdered cheese on fire). They did the dishes and went on walks. They danced. 

“So why do I feel like there’s a ‘but’ coming up?” she asked when he finished saying all of this. 

Steve shook his head. “There’s not.” And then he sighed deeply because she was right. “I guess I’m just a little scared that all of this is too good to be true, that someone is going to realize that I’m living this life and take it away from me. Things have never been this good, so I’m just waiting for it to crash.” 

“Why do you feel like it needs to crash?” 

Steve shrugged. “I don’t want it to, but everything always does. If I know it’s going to happen and I don’t prepare, doesn’t it means I failed myself? Aren’t I just setting myself up to be hurt?”

“No. Life is life, Steve. There are always going to be ups and downs-”

“So I should be prepared.” 

“Steve.” She looked at him sharply and he realized he’d spoken over her. 

He bowed his head and scratched Eva’s ears. “Sorry.” 

“I’m not going to tell you that there isn’t going to be another low point eventually. It’s life, things happen, and I know what you’ve been through, I get why you’d think this way, but Steve, if you’re constantly on edge for things you don’t know are going to happen, you’re setting yourself up to suffer twice. You’re just going to exhaust yourself, and then if things do happen, you’ll be in no state to handle them. And if you’re expecting things to go a certain way, you’re more likely to act in a way that’ll make them happen.” 

Steve was quiet for a while, sliding Eva’s ears between his fingers. He both loved and hated Dr. Scheinbaum for her ability to get straight at the heart of him. 

“Do you get what I’m saying, Steve?” she asked gently. 

He did, but saying it out loud would force him to acknowledge it all. He just wished it wasn’t all on him. “I’m basically self-sabotaging my relationship because deep down I feel like I don’t deserve it.”

“Is that how you feel?” 

Steve rubbed his hands over his face. “I don’t know. Not most of the time, but occasionally. And it’s only when things are really good for a stretch.” He knew he was running on, but he couldn’t stop himself; he felt the need to justify the way he felt, to show that there was a reason. 

“I want to believe that I deserve all of this and I do most of the time, but there’s still that small collection of voices that win out. It’s the voices of all the guys I fought back when I was small—they all had the same voice for some reason, something small and cold. And the thing I hate the most is that I believe it.” 

Dr. Scheinbaum nodded, made a small note in her portfolio, and looked back at him. “And if Bucky were to approach you on one of these nights, how would you respond?” 

He’d try to hide away, but Bucky knew him well enough to know where to find him and that he really didn’t want to be alone. Because if Bucky found him, it meant that he cared. But he didn’t say that part. What he said instead was, “I’d be clingy. And then I’d feel like I was being overbearing and think it would be better if I was alone, but it would just make things worse and it’s just a cycle. I-” 

Steve looked down at the carpet, the words heavy on his tongue. Dr. Scheinbaum waited. Eva rested her head on his knee. It felt like a year had passed by the time he finally forced them into the room. 

“There’s days when I feel like I’m only tolerated. So I guess if things crash and burn it just proves that right.” 

“What relationship in your life makes you feel like you’re only tolerated?” 

“I-” She didn’t let him talk because she wasn’t finished. 

“Who in your life that you _ care about _—that’s the important part, Steve—who in your life who’s opinion actually matters to you has told you or indicated in any fashion that they only tolerate your presence?” 

He looked down again, knowing the answer she was hinting at. “No one. It’s all me.” It was always him. It was the same thing he’d been working on since his first session with her over two years ago, since before he’d moved in with Bucky. He thought he’d gotten past it. Apparently not. Apparently it was buried deep. 

She kept quiet, waiting to see if he had anything else to say, which he did. 

“I guess I never realized how much I let all those kids get to me. I never let it show when I was little, because if you showed any weakness, it was just bait for them to jump on you again. I pretended that I didn’t care what they said, laughed it off. Guess it didn’t work as much as I thought.” 

“You’re a fighter, Steve,” she said. “When those voices insult someone else, you immediately jump to their defense. Why can’t you do the same for yourself? Don’t let them win.” 

“I know. Don’t give them the satisfaction.” 

“No.” That had him looking up, and she gave him a grim smile. “Give yourself the satisfaction, Steve. Live the life you’ve built for yourself and know that no matter what they say, you built it despite what they’ve said. They said no one would love you? You have-”

“I have Bucky. Sam, Natasha,” Steve continued for her. “The rest of the team is there too should I need them. And-” He smiled to himself. “And I have new friends, too.” 

“The satisfaction is yours, Steve. Because despite what they said, look at your life.” 

“It’s pretty good, isn’t it?” 

“From what you’ve shared with me? I’d say so.” 

He nodded, feeling lighter and happier. “We’re going to the big parade on Saturday.” 

“The pride parade?” 

“Yeah. I think we’re going to use face paint.” 

***

By the time Friday rolled around, Bucky was nervous. Not because the Parade was tomorrow— no, he was really fucking excited for that; he was ready to take Steve in his arms and kiss him for the entire world to see. He was nervous because the package he was expecting hadn’t come yet. And while he would be fine if it didn’t show in time for tomorrow, he really, really wanted it. Things would just be that much better. 

Steve walked past him, large posters tucked under his arm and a can full of brushes and paint in hand. The phone in his back pocket blasted music. Tone deaf and rhythmically uninclined, Steve sang along to _ It’s Raining Men. _ Bucky rubbed his eyes and groaned to himself but followed Steve into the garden, where he was now spreading out his supplies. 

“I thought we could make signs,” Steve said when Bucky didn’t ask. 

“You want me to paint something?” Bucky asked, incredulous. He was about as good with a paintbrush (or anything not a pencil for that matter) as Steve was at singing. Steve knew this. Well. 

“Yes,” Steve said. “At least, I want you to write your message, and then if you want help embellishing, I can help.” 

“I guess I can do that.” Bucky settled himself on the grass beside Steve. After a stern command, the dogs did the same with only the occasional grumble and tail thump from all three of them. 

He stared down at the thick sheet of heavy paper. It amazed him that staring at something like this gave Steve inspiration. The emptiness unsettled Bucky. Even just a drop of color would make it infinitely better. And then he knew exactly what he wanted to write. No matter how hard Hydra had tried, they’d failed. And acknowledging that fact in any way would feel amazing. 

He grabbed the loudest blue, purple, and pink that Steve had and squirted some onto three separate paper plates. With careful deliberation, he wrote (changing colors every single letter because he could), keeping his back to Steve so the final product could be a surprise. 

Bucky could now understand the allure in painting. There was something meditative in the careful strokes, in the bright colors erasing the stark blankness. Maybe he’d see if Steve could sketch him something to paint. 

Because he wanted it to be absolutely perfect, it took most of the afternoon to finish the seven words. He’d made sure the letters were all the same height. He’d made sure that he hadn’t messed up the color-pattern. He’d made sure that he hadn’t misspelled anything. When he was finally satisfied, he took a step back to look at his finished project. 

**70 YEARS OF ** **BRAINWASHING AND STILL BI**

Yeah. He was proud of that. 

Steve came over to look and barked a laugh. “I fucking love that.” 

“Why thank you. Pissing off any remnants of Hydra is a goal of mine, so letting them know they epically failed is a good perk of the day.” He looked away from the sign to Steve, who had a stripe of yellow paint on his cheek. “What about yours?” 

Steve led the way over to his station, where he’d created three in the time it took Bucky to finish his masterpiece. There was the one he’d expect to see: a rainbow base touting the bold words LOVE IS LOVE. 

There was his favorite, one that made him laugh so hard he snorted: OF COURSE I’M GAY, HAVE YOU SEEN HIS ASS? (Featuring, of course, a rendition of Bucky’s ass that made Bucky appreciate just how good of an artist Steve actually was). 

The crowning jewel of his collection, meaning the one he obviously spent the most time on, was a colorful collection of letters spelling out: 

**IT'S BUCKY AND STEVE NOT ADAM AND stEVE**

“Oh, that’s wonderful.” 

“I mean, if people are going to incorrectly use the Bible to yell at us, might as well have fun with it, right?” Steve asked, grinning ear to ear. 

-

The package arrived at precisely 9:49pm that night. Bucky vaulted over the back of the couch when the doorbell rang, nearly kicking Steve in the face in his haste while yelling at him to pause the movie. He thanked the tired looking Fed-Ex man and ran to his room, shutting the door behind him to request a moment of privacy from Steve. He would find out what it was soon enough. Right now, Bucky just wanted to savor it. 

He carefully lifted the cover and removed the styrofoam sheets. And there it was in all its glory. Hydra would be so fucking pissed if they saw him walking around like this. Shuri had really outdone herself. Bucky would reward her with a whole host of pictures tomorrow. 

Glad he wore a tank top that day, Bucky detached his arm with practiced ease, set it on the bed, and grabbed the new one. A few seconds later, it was on. He rolled his shoulder. Wearing an arm for the first time was always a strange feeling. As she should be, Shuri was always finding things to improve or fine-tune. The differences were always small, usually so subtle it took Bucky a while to figure out everything she’d done. The first thing he noticed was the weight; it was much lighter than the other. 

When he looked at himself in the mirror, he couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face. He couldn’t wait to see Steve’s face when he saw the pattern of pastel flowers extending from his shoulder, starting purple, fading into pink, and then finally blue. Bucky had always loved when Steve painted him like this, so why not make it his life? 

It was with a little bit of sadness that he returned the pastel arm to its box and put it in the closet. While he was excited for Steve to see it, it was for tomorrow. Besides, it was almost bedtime and lately he’d taken to removing his arm before crawling under the covers. He changed into pajamas before returning to the couch and Steve, who had started to play with the dogs in Bucky’s absence. 

“Everything good?” he asked, pushing himself off the floor and back onto the couch. 

“Everything’s perfect,” Bucky assured, rearranging the blanket around them. He kissed Steve three times (once because he wanted to, the second for good measure, and the third just because he loved him), and started the movie again. 

** **

As he suspected, Steve freaked out when Bucky walked into the kitchen on Saturday morning. He did a sitcom worthy double-take, turning so quickly in his chair he nearly fell off it. Eyes wide and mouth hanging open, he walked up to him, fingers brushing almost reverently down the flowers. 

“You-” he whispered. “It’s-” 

“It’s me,” Bucky told him. “You just helped me figure it out.” 

Steve took Bucky’s hand in his and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. Bucky closed his eyes against the touch. 

“Humor me for a second,” he whispered, giving Steve his right hand. All too happily, Steve pressed a kiss to his right hand, and then another to his left. 

Bucky breathed out in amazement, a tiny smile and breath of a laugh escaping him. They felt almost the exact same. 

“You want to tell me what’s happening?” Steve asked, now tracing his fingertips lightly across Bucky’s left palm. 

“Do you remember when you asked me what it felt like when you held my hand, way back when and I told you that I just felt pressure?” Steve nodded. “It’s not that anymore.” 

Steve pressed his lips to Bucky’s knuckles again and then pressed a light kiss to every single fingertip. Bucky wrapped his arms around Steve’s waist and pulled him close. 

“Don’t ever change this part of you,” Bucky whispered before kissing him. If the smile curling under his lips was anything, it was an indication that Steve most definitely wouldn't. 

“So I’m assuming that’s what the package was last night?” Steve asked a few minutes later as Bucky poured himself coffee. 

“You’re so smart.” 

Steve flipped him the bird and Bucky grinned over the rim of his mug. Steve knew he couldn’t fault anything that came out of Bucky’s mouth before he had his coffee. It was going to be a good day. 

Leaning against the counter, he took the time to examine Steve’s outfit for the day. From the front, it was simple. A plain white muscle-tee bearing the legend IT’S STARS _ AND _ STRIPES over an image of his shield. Natasha had probably given it to him way back. Bucky didn’t know who had taken to cutting the sides so it revealed a good look at his abs, but he wanted to thank them. 

Bucky himself was wearing a black tank top featuring three kittens, each of them a different color of the bi-flag. Shuri had included it in the package. 

“You’re still letting me do face paint for you, right?” Steve asked, taking another bite of his toast. 

“I promised, didn’t I?” 

“Then hurry up with your breakfast, I’m excited.” 

“You’re the one who still has three pieces of toast on his plate.” 

“No I don’t,” Steve replied a few moments later, mouth incredibly full. He hopped off the chair, put his plate in the dishwasher and nearly skipped to the bathroom. Bucky stood there, mug halfway to his mouth, just staring. He would think he knew just how much he loved Steve and then he went and did something like that. 

“BUCK!” 

Knowing exactly this was how Steve felt when witnessing Bucky in the science museum, he laughed to himself, took a large gulp, set his empty mug on the counter, and joined Steve in the bathroom. Steve couldn’t stop singing along to his phone, and as much as Bucky appreciated the Spice Girls, hearing Steve Rogers attempting to sing _ Wannabe _ while painting his face was just a little much. He wouldn’t have it any other way. 

** **

The crowd was large and loud when they reached 26th Street and 5th Avenue. Thousands of people waved rainbow flags and held signs, celebrating the simple thing of being them and proud. Bucky’s heart swelled at the thought of being part of this. After surviving the homophobia of his childhood and the hatred of his past, he was finally here. Bisexual and proud. Out. Happy. 

They passed a trio of women holding signs that read THE BI, THE BUTCH, AND THE LESBIAN LOVE YOU; MORE GAY EVERY DAY, I’M A LESBIAN DEAL WITH IT; and I’M A BI BITCH, YOU CAN’T KILL ME. They sang along loudly to _ Dancing Queen _ and kissed the other’s cheeks when they weren’t looking. Bucky grinned at them and they grinned back. 

Aapeli barked and wagged her tail. Bucky ruffled her head and adjusted the rainbow scarf that both she and Eva wore. Steve had insisted upon them when he’d seen them in the store. Bucky hadn’t been able to disagree. Daisy was at home, a sad but necessary decision. 

They met up with Natasha a few minutes later. Sam was unfortunately out of state for work. Bucky grinned when he saw her sign. It looked like he wasn’t the only one pissing off Hydra today (or for the rest of their life). The sign went something like this. She’d written Hail Hydra in bold black letters, but had scribbled out Hail. In obnoxious rainbow, she’d written HI next to the scribbles. Over the Hydra symbol between the words, she’d drawn a middle finger. 

It was one of the best things he’d seen all day. (And he’d woken up to a snoring Steve, hair much, _ much _ more disheveled than usual.) As Bucky had, Natasha cackled when she saw Steve’s sign that claimed Bucky’s ass was the reason he was gay. 

(After the signs had dried, they’d put them back to back with a wooden stick between them. On the back of Bucky’s masterpiece was Steve’s rainbow with the words Love is Love.) 

Bucky couldn’t remember ever having such a good afternoon. He was sure he had, but this? This was wonderful. All around him were people of all ages, genders and identities sharing their love to the world. He had people comment on his arm, not because they recognized it, but because they loved it. He knew more than a few people checked out his ass after seeing Steve’s sign and nodded in a way that clearly said, ‘yeah, I get it.’ When they saw Steve’s abs, they looked positively jealous. The wide grin he wore had his cheeks hurting after a while, but he couldn’t care less. He couldn’t not smile. 

While not able to hold hands because of leashes and signs, Steve made it impossible for anyone to doubt that the two of them were together. Not in the least, he told everyone in their vicinity that Bucky was his best guy. When asked if that meant they were dating, he said yes with the biggest, cheesiest grin. 

When Bucky asked him when he’d gotten so comfortable with saying all of this to random strangers (not that Bucky was mad), Steve told him he was giving himself the satisfaction. He looked so happy when he said it that Bucky couldn’t help but kiss him. 

He didn’t know how many selfies they took together.

At one point, a news camera was shoved in their face. Whether or not it was because the cameraman recognized them as Captain America and the Winter Soldier, or just because they were there, Bucky would never know. In a quick sequence of events, he’d given the signs to Natasha, dipped Bucky, and kissed him soundly. When the kiss ended, the cameraman was nowhere to be seen. Natasha had her own phone out. From her smirk, Bucky knew she’d gotten a good photo and couldn’t wait for her to send it forward. Without even seeing it, he knew it was going to be the new lock screen for his phone. 

“Hey, Stevie?” he said before taking his sign back from Natasha. 

“Yeah?” 

“I’m bisexual.” He’d realized he’d never actually said the word and what better place to say the words that he’d struggled with for so long than at a place celebrating it? “I’m bisexual and I love you.” 

Steve just kissed him again. “I’m an asshole,” he replied. “And I love you, too.” 

There were a few people that recognized them for who they were. A few men walked up to them and asked Steve straight up if he was Captain America. With absolutely no hesitation, Steve replied in the affirmative. The trio of women Bucky had seen earlier asked for a photo, which they happily agreed to. Most of them were little kids, awed beyond anything but still brave enough to talk to them. 

When the music started, Bucky knew what was going to happen before it did. Grin widening (which was impressive considering how big it was in the first place), Steve turned to him, and in that terrible voice Bucky loved so much, sang loud enough to reach over the group of people around them: 

“_You’re just too good to be true, can’t take my eyes off of you, you’d be like Heaven to touch, I wanna hold you so much, at long last, love has arrived, and I thank God we’re alive. You’re just too good to be true can’t take my eyes off of you.” _

Bucky grinned like a fool, but what else was there to do when Steve did something like this? And to do it in front of a crowd this big, to say ‘yeah, this me, if you have a problem with it, I don’t care’ was big for him. Knowing the chorus, Bucky joined in, singing just as loud, and just as tone deaf as the man he wanted the entire world to know he loved. 

"_I love you baby, and if it’s quite alright, I need you baby, to warm the lonely night, I love you baby, trust in me when I say: Oh, pretty baby, don’t bring down I pray, oh pretty baby, now that I’ve found you, stay, and let me love you, baby, let me love you.” _

He knew Natasha recorded the entire thing, and all he could think was: good. 

* * *

[Natasha's Sign](https://padfoot-and-the-marauders.tumblr.com/post/621180147954073600/happy-pride-from-the-wonderful-art-my-beautiful), courtesy of my beautiful, beautiful wife

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY PRIDE FROM THIS RAGING BISEXUAL.
> 
> Honestly, it's amazing I ever finished this chapter because of how fucking hyped I was while writing it. There were multiple times I had to step away and calm down. It's fine. I'm fine. (I also listened to Mama Mia, so that was 95% of it).
> 
> Also, find my cameo. BonkyBornes and co have a feature.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve's birthday part one, I guess. Or, the chapter I didn't know was going to happen.

If there was only one constant in their life, it was that Sam and Natasha knew they could hold zero expectations for what they would experience when they walked into the house of Steve and Bucky. It was one thing the two men were incredibly pleased about. Occasionally, they would plan for the wildest of conversations around the time they were set to show. Other times, like this one, were incredibly organic. 

Steve, too lazy to hunt for Bucky, let out a sound that was a strange combination between a squawk and a squeak. Not two seconds later, Bucky replied with a similar call. It was through this makeshift game of Marco Polo that Steve found Bucky with his head under the washing machine making a minor repair. It was also why Sam and Natasha walked into the house to find two grown men, (super soldiers with incredibly high intelligence, mind you), facing each other on the couch making increasingly weirder sounds to each other and proceeding to giggle afterward. 

“So this is what an almost ninety-nine-year-old and a centenarian do on their off day,” Natasha said, kissing Steve on the cheek before dropping herself onto the recliner. (Bucky flipped her off for ignoring him and she blew him a kiss). Daisy immediately clambered into her lap. “I’ve always wanted to know.” 

“It’s hard getting older,” Steve told her with a shrug. “You should know all about that, Sam.” 

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Sam deposited himself on the floor. Eva lifted her head, looked at him for a second, and returned to sleep. Steve reached down and scratched her head.

“It means you’re almost forty, and you need to live with that.” 

“So says the almost ninety-nine-year-old.” 

“In technicalities only. If Nat wasn’t here, I’d be the youngest in the room.” Because really, he was only thirty-three. Almost. 

“Just goes to show that age doesn’t prove to be the deciding factor in anything,” Natasha said, playing with Daisy’s ears. It was certainly a sight to see, and Steve was struck by the odd sense of pride in creating a space where she felt comfortable enough to deviate from the shell she wore for so many people. 

“And what is _ that _ supposed to mean?” Sam asked. 

“It means that just because you’re the person who has lived the most consecutive years, doesn’t mean you’re the wisest or the most lethal. I take both categories, meaning age is just a bullshit way to blame the younger generation for everything.” 

“Hold on,” Bucky said. “You think you’re the most lethal?” 

Natasha blinked slowly. “Yes.” 

“And who do you have to thank for that?” 

“Myself.” 

Bucky looked insulted. “I trained you.” 

“Meaning I know all your tricks, which is why I beat you every time we spar. Plus, I’m a woman, therefore everybody underestimates me. So yes, out of everybody in this room, I am the most lethal.” 

“Huh.” Bucky looked genuinely put out by that. Steve patted him on the back. 

“We can go downstairs and go at it, but I can assure you, I’ll win. You’re out of practice.” Also, dressed in a pair of jeans that looked to be painted on, it didn’t look like she’d come over expecting to spar.

“Is that an insult?” Bucky asked. 

“A compliment, actually. You’ve been domesticated, and I’m happy for you.” She fell silent for a moment, looking as if she were measuring her words carefully. “I was worried about both of you for a while. I’m just really glad that you’ve realized you have each other, and it’s good to see you both so happy.” 

“Translation: you’re both knuckleheads, and it’s a relief to know that you finally have open communication, even if it is in the form of undecipherable gibberish” Sam added as soon as she finished speaking. 

Steve didn’t quite know how to react to this turn in the conversation. It felt like the two of them had agreed this was something they were going to bring up as soon as there was a space for it. Bucky was quiet beside him. 

“Thanks?” he said, hoping it was an acceptable answer. Because really, how did one respond to a proclamation like that?

“Gratitude accepted,” Sam said. 

“So, Bucky boy, where are you taking your man for his birthday?” Natasha asked, now accepting Alpine onto her lap as well. 

“I don’t know what you mean,” Bucky replied. 

“I mean, why else would you have us come over days early to celebrate the big ninety-nine unless you had something big planned for the actual day?” 

Steve looked over to Bucky, who was decidedly not looking at Steve. So that’s what the ‘clear your schedule’ and unannounced visit was about. 

“You’re not going to get me to say anything, so don’t even try,” Bucky told Natasha. 

She glared at Bucky for a moment longer before turning her attention to Steve. “Since I’m apparently not going to be seeing you on the big day itself, happy birthday, you big lug.” 

She tossed him a small box, wrapped in blue paper patterned with his face. With a sigh, Steve unwrapped it, taking out a generic white mug bearing the legend _ your custom text goes here. _

“Wow, Natasha. I’m so touched.” 

“Well, you know. Can’t have it be too personal, now can we? Don’t want people to assume that I’m attached or like you or anything of that sort. It would completely ruin the image I’ve worked so hard to create.” It was said in a complete deadpan. 

“Of course not, of course not,” he replied, stifling a laugh. 

“Oh, this means nothing,” she told them, gesturing to the two animals on her lap. “You should actually be worried about this. I’m training them. They no longer belong to you.” 

“Well, that gives us more room in bed then.” Bucky pressed a kiss to Steve’s cheek, much to Sam’s chagrin. 

“Look, just because I love the two of you together doesn’t mean I want to know about your sex life!” Sam threw them a disgusted look. 

“You’re the ones that apparently talk about it all the time,” Bucky said with a look towards Natasha. “I thought you’d be happy about the update.” 

Natasha stuck her tongue out at them and continued stroking Daisy’s nose. Daisy stared up at her with the big eyes Steve knew so well. God help him if he didn’t love that dog to pieces. 

Steve was aware he was missing something but didn’t care to push the conversation any further into the territory it was edging into. “Bird, what did you get your elder for his birthday? Since this is apparently my birthday party that no one thought to tell me about.” 

“Steve, dear, that’s the point of a surprise party,” Natasha told him. “Would it have been more apparent if we’d hidden and sprung out from behind furniture with confetti cannons making a mess of your living room?” 

Steve shuddered at the thought. “Only if you wanted to get punched.” 

“Hence the lame-ass surprise birthday party.” Sam threw him a present less than half the length of his forearm. It weighed almost nothing and was wrapped in the same wrapping paper as Natasha’s. Having no idea what to expect, he started to unwrap. 

At first, he thought Sam had taken his wrapping to a whole separate level by wrapping it twice, but when he picked up the pair of socks, he was proven wrong. Sam really had purchased him a pair of socks with his face on it. And then he unfolded the socks. Bucky giggled beside him. It wasn’t just his face, which was oddly squished and wide; it was the entire suit. With the way the proportions were, it would make his arms look obscenely long. But at least it would make his ass look _ fantastic _. 

“You’re hilarious, Sam. Truly.” 

Sam was grinning. “I know I am. Just know that I outbid five other people for those. So, you know. Friendship.” 

A few hours passed in this same way, with the type of banter only possible between friends who deeply knew each other. The conversations that ensued important enough to warrant mention include: what their tv show would be like should anyone fictionalize their life, what they would go to school for should they need to completely recreate their life, and how they would hide a giraffe. 

When it neared six, Bucky pressed a kiss to Steve’s lips and pushed himself off the couch to get to work making dinner. Without any preamble, Sam got up and followed him. There were surprisingly few outbursts from both of them. Steve smiled to himself. Maybe miracles were possible. 

Steve noticed Natasha staring at him, head cocked just so. He’d watched her work enough to know it was the way she looked at someone before starting an interrogation. Rather than acknowledging the fact, he slid off the couch to sit beside Eva. 

“I hope you can see how much different you are,” Natasha finally said. Her voice was surprisingly soft. 

“What is this, a surprise therapy session?” 

“If that’s the case, I think we’re both in trouble.” Steve looked up to see her giving him a wry smile. “No, it’s just that I’ve known you the entire time you’ve been out of the ice. Between 2012 and 2015, there was this heaviness about you. You didn’t go out-” 

“I went out with the team,” Steve said, feeling the need to defend himself. 

“You sat in the corner with a few beers. That’s not going out. Getting you to loosen up enough to get to know just a fraction of the person under the mask was a challenge, and that only really happened if Thor provided you with some of his mead. Even getting you comfortable just sitting with someone was hard.” 

“Oh.” He hadn’t realized it had been that bad and was coming to understand Natasha’s point quite clearly. 

“You never laughed. You didn’t smile. And now-”

Behind them, Bucky laughed. Steve didn’t even try to fight the small grin he knew was crossing his face. Without looking, Steve knew it was the laugh that made Bucky’s nose scrunch. 

“I’m just-after everything you’ve gone through, everything you’ve sacrificed, I’m really glad you finally have this. And, I’m really proud of you. I didn’t know if I’d ever see this.” 

“Thank you, Nat.” 

“You tell anyone I said anything remotely close to that, I’ll smother you in your sleep and make it look like natural causes.” 

He repurposed the vestiges of the smile created from Bucky’s laugh. “Of course.” 

She went back to paying attention to Daisy. Steve scratched Eva’s shoulder. As usual, she was right. And like the obstinate piece of work Steve’s brain liked to be sometimes, it had taken him until being told by someone else to realize the truth of the statement. Of course, Steve knew he had changed. It was impossible to live with your best friend and love and not come out changed. What he hadn’t realized was the cosmic difference. 

Knowing it was there, knowing it was pronounced enough for a long enough period of time for Natasha to feel comfortable mentioning, made him feel a fondness for himself that he hadn’t felt in a while. 

The past few days he’d been in a strange headspace. When Bucky mentioned it, he hadn’t known what to say. It was a weird feeling, to say in the least. He’d known he was happy, and that had been the problem. There had been absolutely nothing on his shoulders, and after everything he’d experienced, that lightness was almost unsettling. It felt like there was something he was forgetting to place on himself. 

But there wasn’t. His life was happy. He didn’t need to self-sabotage. He could give himself this satisfaction. So he would. 

When Bucky came in to let them know dinner was ready, Steve took his left hand and brushed his lips against his knuckles. With Sam and Natasha there, it was what he could do to show his gratitude and love. But based on the smirk Natasha wore, he could do so much more. 

***

Sam and Natasha left soon after dinner. Natasha claimed she needed to check on her cat, and Sam actually had the excuse of work in the morning. Bucky knew they were really just giving the two of them the night, and he wasn’t going to complain in the slightest. He and Steve hadn’t had a quiet, peaceful evening in a while. Between the random panic attack and the migraine that had lasted three days, Bucky was more than ready for it. 

Glasses of wine on the coffee table, Bucky sat on the floor, Steve on the couch behind him. His eyes were closed as Steve massaged his shoulders, working out the knots and tension that came from his left arm. Despite his new arm being lighter than the old, the metal plates digging into his shoulder weren’t the most comfortable. After realizing his migraines were easier to handle when the tension in his neck was less, he’d taken to asking Steve every night for a massage. He groaned slightly when Steve reached a particularly tender spot where the metal connected with his flesh but sighed when the muscle released. 

Now, they just sat quietly. Too lazy, or maybe too relaxed, to move from the floor, Bucky continued to sit with his back against the couch. Steve’s fingers played with the hair at the nape of his neck. 

“Do you think you’ll ever go short again?” Steve asked. 

“I don’t know. I’ve thought about it, but I don’t know. Maybe.” 

It was a short conversation he had with himself every time he washed his hair. The long hair hadn’t been his choice; it had been the decision, or maybe lack of decision, of his handlers. A decision to show just how little the person behind the monster mattered to them. Now, his hair was one of the ways he cared about himself. He’d reclaimed what had once been neglect. But changing it would also be another way to leave the Soldier behind. He just didn’t know if he was ready yet. Maybe one day. 

Bucky frowned as his phone buzzed. Everyone he talked to (which granted, wasn’t a big list, but it was more than just Steve, Sam, and Natasha now) knew that, unless it was an emergency, he didn’t respond to messages past seven. On the off chance that it _ was _ an emergency, he took his phone out of his pocket. A message from Steve obscured his lock screen. Rolling his eyes, he opened it to find a picture of the back of his head, captioned with the words ‘so beautiful’. Exasperated, he turned to look at Steve. As soon as he did, Steve leaned down and kissed him deeply. 

“You know, if that’s all you wanted to do, you could’ve just asked,” Bucky said, a little breathless, when the kiss ended. 

“Where’s the fun in that?” Steve kissed him again, just a soft press of his lips. 

“I hate when you make sense.” They were so close Bucky could feel Steve’s smile. 

“No, you don’t.” 

“No, I don’t.” 

Their lips met again. Without breaking the kiss, Bucky raised himself from the floor and onto the couch. Steve moved enough to allow himself to lay flat, and Bucky laid on top of him. It was a very pleasant way to spend the next few minutes, kissing Steve Rogers, with one hand of Steve’s cradling the back of his head and the other on the small of his back. It was with a happy little sigh that Bucky rested his head in the crook of Steve’s neck, breathing in his scent. 

“I love you,” he murmured, pressing a small kiss to Steve’s neck. 

A rumble of a laugh vibrated beneath him. “I love you, too.” 

They lay quiet for a while. Steve’s fingers lightly carded through his hair. One hand snuck beneath his shirt and traced up and down his back. 

“What were you and Natasha talking about when I went to make dinner?” He’d seen Natasha’s mouth moving, but hadn’t been able to make out anything she’d said. 

Steve grunted slightly, as if Bucky had roused him from a light doze. When he answered, his words were slightly slurred in the way that happened when he was too tired to enunciate clearly. “She was tellin’ me how happy she was for me.” 

Bucky hummed. On occasion, Natasha proved to be a good friend. Expecting the lull to continue, he closed his eyes, completely relaxed by Steve’s fingers on his back. When Steve spoke, his voice had changed slightly. It held the same self-deprecating tone as when he spoke about hating his body. 

“You didn’t know me when I first came out of the ice, Buck, and I’m glad you didn’t. I was lost. If I didn’t have the team, I really don’t know what I would’ve done.” 

Steve shuddered a bit beneath him, and unable to give him a hug, Bucky pressed another kiss to his neck. Steve tightened his hold on him slightly. From Bucky’s position, he could just barely see the features of his face. Steve stared at the ceiling. He tried to sit up, but Steve tightened his hold enough to lock him in place. 

“I thought I was okay, but that was the way I was trying to protect myself from how I actually felt. I isolated myself when there wasn’t a mission. I couldn’t get drunk, but that didn’t stop me from drinking. I wanted company, but didn’t know how to act around people when we weren’t on mission. Natasha was the first one who noticed. We just sat together some days. She didn’t make me talk, but I knew I had the option to. Eventually, I opened up a bit more. Not much, but I tried living again. I met Sam. And then you showed up.” 

Bucky wondered how long Steve had held this inside. As much as he wanted to murmur comforts, he found he couldn’t speak. 

“Those months it took to find you after D.C. were some of the longest months I’ve had, but I had one thing I thought I’d never have again. Hope. I had a purpose again. I knew you weren’t going to be the same, but I wasn’t either. And then you agreed to move in with me, just settle away from everything. Slowly, miraculously, we both started to heal. I felt safe. I started to smile again. I started to laugh. And somewhere in all of that, I started to look forward to what the future held.” 

The tight hold on Bucky was released and they both sat up. Steve took both of Bucky’s hands in his own. He wore the expression he always had when he’d resolved to say something. Stubborn, courageous, a little bit of fear. 

“You’re a big part of all of that. There’s no uncertainties in my life anymore, Buck. I know that when I wake up, I always want to wake up next to you. I know that when I have a bad day, I want to come home and feel your arms around me. I know that when I laugh, I want you to be the first place I look. Because the one thing I was missing all of those years was home. And when I’m with you, no matter where I am, I’m there.” He took a deep breath. “So I guess what I’m trying to say is will you marry me?” 

His bottom lip was between his teeth as he looked at Bucky, eyes full of hope. For a moment, Bucky saw him the way he’d been before all of this. Sharp angles and bones, full of fire. The face he’d fallen in love with. The serum had softened it slightly, but underneath it all was the same person. He wanted more than anything to say yes. He wished he could say yes. 

“Steve, I-” 

Steve dropped his head before Bucky could finish. The wounded puppy-dog look drove a dagger in his heart. He made to move off the couch, but Bucky held him fast. Steve didn’t look at him. 

“I’m not saying no, Steve. I’m just not where I want to be when we take that step.” He hated the tiny nod Steve gave him. “Steve, will you look at me? Please?” He waited until Steve’s gaze met his. “Someday, okay? I promise.” 

Steve nodded again, dropping his gaze. Bucky took Steve’s face in both of his hands and pressed the softest kiss to his lips, a kiss he hoped translated the depth of his love. 

“I’m going to get ready for bed,” Steve said, sounding exhausted. 

“Okay.” Bucky kissed his forehead and let him go. Without saying anything else, Steve left the couch. 

***

An hour later found Steve sitting on his bed, looking out the window. It was open wide enough to let in the night wind and soft patter of rain. The moment gave the illusion of peace, even if it wasn’t. He picked at his thumb. Eva licked his hand. 

He was doing his best not to dwell on the fact that Bucky had rejected him. He was doing his best to remind him that Bucky _ hadn’t _ rejected him. Just because Bucky wasn’t ready yet didn’t mean he wouldn’t ever be ready. It had just hurt after being so excited, so confident in his words. 

Before he asked the question, he’d spent the evening imagining it. It’s not even that he needed it for the certainty that Bucky wouldn’t leave, he just wanted the steadiness of calling Bucky his husband. He wanted the satisfaction of proving to himself and others that he was worthy of love. So he’d pictured their future, not unlike the life they had now, but uncomplicated. No hurdles to jump through. Just them until the end, the way they’d promised. 

A soft knock on the door slowed his thoughts just enough to turn to see Bucky standing in the doorway, hands in his pockets. 

“Can I sit?” he asked. 

Steve nodded and moved to make room for him. Bucky settled against the wall, knees against his chest. There was a small gap between their shoulders. It felt like they’d gone back in time to when they’d danced around each other. 

“Are you okay, Steve?” 

He hated the look of worry in Bucky’s eyes. And of course it was there. Steve had run away when things hadn’t gone his way, doing exactly what he’d asked Bucky not to do. He couldn’t even be mad at Bucky, not when all he’d done was what he’d needed. 

“Yeah.” 

“Are we okay?” He looked at Steve out of the corner of his eye when he asked this. Steve suddenly felt like they were back in their apartment and he’d just been dragged out of a fight. Except this time, their roles were reversed. And he hated it. 

“Yeah, we’re okay.” 

That was all the encouragement Bucky needed to wrap his arm around Steve’s waist. Steve melted into him. 

“Take your time, Buck,” Steve murmured. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

“Thanks for understanding.” Bucky kissed his hair, taking his hand in his. “One day.” 

One day. That was all Steve needed. But that was a lie. All he needed was Bucky. Because if there was only one constant in their life, it was each other. 

* * *

Also, the [socks](https://www.thesockspot.com/products/marvel-captain-america-360-socks) Sam got for Steve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So guess who learned last night that when she gets tipsy, she writes cuddles that turn into deep conversations that turn into proposals? So literally half of this chapter was written while under the influence of wine. But you know, I'm not mad about it. It was a good evening. 
> 
> So the chapter I expected to write will come next. Until then.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve's birthday, part two. Or, the chapter that I didn't really expect, part two.

Bucky always woke up before Steve on the fourth of July. No matter what. It was the only way he was able to create any sort of surprise, what with how early Steve usually woke up. The mandate was so deeply drilled into him, it had even occurred during his time as the Soldier, not that he had understood why. So, when his eyes opened to find the room still dark, four separate bodies still breathing deeply, he wasn’t surprised. 

It was a rare moment where Steve wasn’t tangled up in him. Sometime during the night, Daisy had wormed her way under Steve’s arm, and Steve had pulled her close to his chest. The sight brought such joy to his heart, Bucky found it hard to believe there had ever been a time where he hadn’t been receptive to having her as a part of their family. 

A light breeze from the open window played over his face, bringing in the sweet smell of night air and sound of crickets. It was a moment of peace that was getting more and more familiar. He didn’t bother looking to see what time it was because it didn’t matter. Bucky had been trying more and more lately to just let moments live. It was something he hadn’t ever been able to do before. At least, not in the way he could now. 

Until recently, Bucky hadn’t realized just how loud his brain had always been. Responsibility after responsibility had been placed on his shoulders: take care of Steve, take care of his siblings, work at the docks, protect his country. In a way, he envied the Soldier for just how quiet it had been. He’d been a child in so many ways. As he came to know his mind more, Bucky could understand why the Soldier had been so inconsolable when he’d resurfaced. Bucky felt every emotion that came over him; maybe not well, but he let them burn him. His mind was full of memories of heat and laughter, rain and blistering anger. There was nothing quiet about Bucky Barnes’ mind. After the silence, it had to have been a terrifying onslaught. 

It had taken a while, and it still took work to believe some days, but Bucky had been forced to accept the fact that the Soldier was a separate person. After they’d fully forced Bucky into the cage he’d lived in until Steve had said his name, it had just been him. His life was full of bloodshed and hatred, but he hadn’t known better. They were the only things he’d been taught. 

Understanding this didn’t make his nightmares better. If anything, they made them worse. Because even though the trigger words were out of his head and the Soldier couldn’t be summoned by those who wished to use him, he still lived. Dreams had become his territory. Without orders to fulfil, his nature had changed. The Soldier, unknowing of love, simply longed. The dreams weren’t bloody, they weren’t angry, they weren’t full of hate, but they were the worst thing Bucky had ever experienced. There were days he woke sobbing into Steve’s chest, weeping tears that weren’t his own to spill. He almost preferred the others. At least those were familiar. 

But this wasn’t what Bucky was thinking of now. Right now, he was doing his very best to not think of anything. He was working on quieting the din of his mind that had started the moment he’d woken. He was working to just take in everything of the moment and nothing else. The cool wind on his face, the sound of Steve breathing beside him, the occasional snore that had his lips twitching in a smile and his heart growing warm. The way his own breath felt as his chest rose and fell. With how relaxed the practice made him, he’d nearly fallen back asleep when Steve’s voice seared him awake. 

“You’re a dad, Buck,” Steve mumbled, sighing happily. 

It wasn’t the first time Steve had talked in his sleep. He’d done it a lot as a kid, particularly when he was lost in fever dreams. It was, however, the first time he’d mentioned Bucky. And in Steve’s dream, he was a dad. That thought gave Bucky such a rush of fondness for the man sleeping beside him that he wanted to turn over and kiss him awake. But he didn’t want to pull Steve from the dream of what he longed their future to be. Instead, he shifted to his side and simply watched him, just basking in the thought that this was his reality now. 

At one point, Steve woke up, not enough to be conscious, but enough to reach out for Bucky. As their fingers intertwined and Steve pulled their hands as close to his chest as Daisy’s body would allow, Bucky moved closer. Given the chance, Steve’s legs immediately tangled with his, allowing for as much of their bodies touching as possible. 

At the beginning of living with him again, Steve’s tactile nature had driven Bucky mad. Whenever Steve touched him, even if it was a simple brush of a shoulder as they passed in the hallway, he’d retreated. A more deliberate touch had him spiraling. No matter what he’d promised, he’d still been more Soldier than human, and after everything he’d done, what was he deserving of love? He’d been embarrassed and confused and a little scared that he’d wanted more. 

It had gotten easier the longer he’d lived in the house. There had been quiet. No whirrings of machines, apart from his dreams. No orders. No anger, apart from his own. He couldn’t count how many times he’d lashed out, but Steve, his beautiful and wonderful Steve, had been infinitely patient. And one day, Bucky had woken up to find that he could be touched. Things had gotten easier. 

Once he’d learned how to accept the gentleness after only knowing pain, he’d craved it. He’d found small ways, natural ways, to let their bodies brush. Not that Bucky had said anything. But Steve had known, and it hadn’t been in Steve’s nature to stop, anyway. 

Now, it was second nature. An unconscious thought. Magnetic. They drifted towards each other without thinking. It was as if they were batteries, and the only way to recharge was in the other’s orbit. They could survive without the other, but it wasn’t ideal. And besides, hadn’t they both gone through enough, been alone long enough, to deserve someone they could find rest in? 

Steve stirred in his sleep, his lips parting just slightly as he let out a sigh. There were no words to describe the level of happiness and peace that resided in the room. If Bucky could go back in time and tell his younger self that one day he wouldn’t have to worry about Steve, that he would be watching him sleep just because it made him happy rather out of fear that he wouldn’t make it through the night, he would. 

A small smile curled Steve’s lips. Bucky shifted closer, wishing he’d had his left arm on so he could drape it over Steve. But this was good, too. Knowing his body would wake him up again so he could make breakfast, Bucky closed his eyes and let himself fall asleep, cradled by the familiarity of the moment. 

It was a few hours later when Bucky next woke. The room had since been filled with early morning light. Steve still slept beside him. Knowing it neared six, he slid his legs out of bed, stretched, and stood. Eva and Aapeli were immediately awake, their eyes bright. Daisy blinked at him once and returned to sleep. Bucky ruffled her ears, drew a light hand across Steve’s cheek, retrieved his arm, and quietly left the room, Eva and Aapeli at his heels. 

He fed them and let them out to explore the garden. While he brushed his teeth, he started the coffee. Bucky had never expected the sound of brewing coffee to bring him contentment, but it quickly had. It was a little thing that reminded him that there was routine to his days now. 

The cracking of eggs came next. Alpine wound her way around his ankles, purring loudly. He sauteed onions, red peppers, and mushrooms. Apparently unable to resist the smell, Daisy came out of the room, tail wagging. Bucky fed her as well and let her out to lounge with the others. Earl grey waffles were whisked together and drizzled into the iron. With each new thing he did, he prayed Steve continued sleeping. He wanted to be the one to wake him up, to watch sleepy recognition bloom across his face. Steve did it enough to him that he wanted the satisfaction of seeing it for himself. As Steve woke before him most days, it was his only chance in the foreseeable future. 

Bucky added a dollop of honey whip cream to the top of the waffles and plated the eggs. A mug of coffee was set on the tray along with the two plates. After checking to make sure the dogs were happy where they were, he returned to their room where Steve was thankfully still deeply asleep. Bucky set the tray on the desk and went to the bed. Steve had turned onto his other side so it was easy for Bucky to kneel beside him. 

For all of his talk about wanting to kiss Steve awake, he’d never actually done it. In the middle of the night, he could never bring himself to interrupt his dreaming. For a moment, he just watched him, memorizing the peaceful expression. The long lashes against his cheek. The brush of a curl over his forehead. When he’d drunk his fill, he started his wake up process. 

First, Bucky kissed Steve’s forehead, then his cheek, the tip of his nose. Steve stirred slightly, the barest hint of a smile curling on his lips. He took Steve’s right hand and brushed a kiss to the tip of every finger before pressing his lips to his knuckles. Steve stirred a bit more. Bucky cupped his cheek and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. Once. Twice. Three times. On the third, there was the lightest pressure back. He pulled away to watch Steve’s eyes struggle to open. A sleepy smile lazily crossed his face. 

“Hi,” he whispered, voice low and sleep-strained and beautiful. 

“Good morning,” Bucky whispered. 

Steve’s eyes closed again, but the pursing of his lips was clear. Bucky obeyed without issue. Steve’s arms snaked under Bucky’s and, without warning, easily dragged him into bed. 

“You know, if that’s all you wanted, you could’ve just asked,” Bucky told him cheekily. 

Steve simply said, “it’s my birthday,” before kissing him deeply. 

“Which is why I made you breakfast,” he replied against his lips. 

At that moment, Steve’s stomach made itself known. “What did you make me?” 

“Waffles.”

Steve immediately sat up, rolling Bucky off of him. He landed with a thump on the floor. 

“Wow, thanks, Bucky, I’m so thankful that you made me breakfast,” Bucky said as he picked himself up. 

“Wow, thanks, Buck, the dearest light of my life, my love, my incredibly sexy best guy, my muse, my happiness, my beloved, my heart, my future, my-” 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, you love me” Bucky muttered, but he couldn’t stop the smile from spreading. 

Steve grinned up at him, hair sticking up, pillow marks still on his face. He looked to be about twelve. Granted, at twelve, he’d looked to be about seven. “Does this mean I get my breakfast?” His stomach growled again. 

“I guess.” Bucky grabbed the tray and set it on his lap, coming to sit next to him. 

As with most things Bucky made for Steve, Steve closed his eyes after the first bite. “I know it’s redundant to say now, but you’re really good at this, Buck. You sure you’re not meant to be a chef? We could both go to school together.” 

“And deal with stuffy adults who don’t know how to follow instructions? I don’t think so. I’ve watched enough _ Hell’s Kitchen _to know that would lead to bloodshed. Whether that would be caused by Gordon Ramsey or me, I cannot say.” 

Steve chuckled, took another bite of his waffle, and groaned. “Have I ever told you how sexy you are when you cook for me?” 

“I think the fact that you act like you want to take most of my recipes to bed adequately informed me of the feeling,” Bucky replied, taking his own bite. It _ was _ pretty damn good. 

“Pretty sure I still dream of that stroganoff.” Steve shoveled some eggs into his mouth. 

“Speaking of dreams, you talked in your sleep last night. Seemed like you were having a pretty good one.” Bucky attempted to hide the fact that his heart rate had risen by taking another bite. They hadn’t really spoken about fatherhood since Valentine’s Day, and not for any lack of trying on Bucky’s part.

“What did I say?” 

“That I was a dad. Which means so were you.” He took a sip of Steve’s coffee. “You seemed pretty happy about the fact.” 

Steve took his coffee from Bucky and took a deep drink. When his face reemerged, his cheeks looked a tinge pink. “I guess I was.” He looked down at his plate and shoveled more food into his mouth. 

Bucky grabbed his hand. “Hold on, Steve. Does that embarrass you?” 

“I don’t want to talk about this right now, Buck. Can we just focus on how good you are at cooking and the fact that I’m ninety-nine?” 

“I do want to talk about this, Steve,” Bucky told him. “You always run from this conversation, and I’ve let you. But you were happy in your dream, Steve. I know you were. So what gives?” 

Steve chewed on his bottom lip before sighing. “I don’t know why I’m embarrassed, but yeah, I guess I am. I guess it’s like when you were so adamant that you hated corned beef that you wouldn’t even try some, and when you did I couldn’t get you to admit that you liked it for years after.” 

He looked up at Bucky. “I had convinced myself not just that I didn’t want to be a dad, but that being a dad would undermine all of the progress I made for myself. I’d resolved myself to crushing you with that news. And then I keep having these experiences that prove me wrong, but by admitting that, by saying that I might not only enjoy this but it would help me, makes me feel like maybe there are more decisions I was adamant in that could be wrong. And that just opens a whole other door. I don’t know. It’s stupid.” He looked down again. 

“Oh, Steve.” Bucky took his chin in his hands and lifted his head. His eyes flickered up and down before finally meeting Bucky’s. “It’s not stupid.” It was the farthest thing from stupid. When you were taught that your decisions meant nothing in the grand scheme of things because the world would do as it pleased with your fate, anything you chose for yourself was closely guarded. Letting go of that decision enough to maybe consider there might be something better for him had been an act of pure bravery on Steve’s part, and he said just as much. 

“It’s not stupid, Steve. It’s brave.” He drew his thumb over Steve’s cheekbones. Steve rested his head in Bucky’s palm. 

“You were playing Super Hero,” he said quietly. “We had a little girl. She looked just like you, Buck.” Steve looked up and his eyes were shining. “There was a blanket tied around her neck to act as a cape. You were flying her around the house. I think I’d just gotten home from work because you both yelled ‘daddy’s home’ and flew over to me.” 

Bucky didn’t even have to close his eyes to see the scene lay itself out in front of him. 

“You roped me into the mission. Had me sit on a chair and pretend to be tied up so the two of you could rescue me. You watched her six while she navigated the living room. When she reached me, she whispered that I was safe because she and Dada were there to protect me. I told her I wasn’t worried. We made it out and back home.” 

“That can be our future, Stevie.” He tried to keep the longing from his voice and face, knowing it would only pressure Steve. He wanted this to be a choice he made because _ he _ wanted to, not because Bucky wanted it. 

There wasn’t any hesitation when Steve answered. “I do. I’m not ready right now, but I want it.” 

If it was possible to judge on how quickly his cheeks started to hurt, Bucky knew the grin that slid across his face was blinding. “We’re probably going to be the oldest new parents the world has ever seen, aren’t we?” 

Steve threw his head back and barked a laugh. It was full of so much joy that it seemed to contain the sun. “We probably will be, but you didn’t need to go and rub it in, jerk. I suppose I’ll just have to take comfort in the fact that I’ll never be as old as you.” 

Bucky sighed. “Yeah. It’s unfortunate you didn’t come out of the ice a few years earlier. You could’ve overtaken me.” 

“You’d hate to be younger than me.” 

“I would, wouldn’t I?” 

Steve scrunched up his face. “Hate to break it to you, bud. You like being the old fart. Means you feel like you have the right to boss me around.” 

“You sure you want to walk this line, punk?” 

“Well, it _ is _ my birthday. That means I get a pass.” 

“Since when?” 

“Since I turned ninety-nine and know that all I need to do is smile and bat my eyelashes.” 

Bucky snorted. “I’m pretty sure that’s all _ I _ need to do.” 

“Are you saying I’m so weak as to fall prey to one of the classic blunders?” 

“Steven, dear. Is this a fight you really want to lose?” There was no way in Heaven that Bucky could lose. He hadn’t been trained by Hydra for nothing. And besides, Steve had crumbled to his puppy dog face last night. 

Steve shifted the tray off his lap. “First one to crack picks up all the poop in the yard for the next two weeks.” 

“Make it a month.” 

Steve nodded. Bucky steeled himself and let his face melt. His eyes drooped, his lip went out. If he wanted, he could probably bring forward a tear or two, but that wouldn’t be necessary. Bucky wouldn't need to hold this face for long. 

Steve’s face went in much the same way. Bucky had to admit, it was a powerful sight. Baby blues eyes swimming with unshed tears, Steve looked like someone had kicked his puppy. His lip wavered. Bucky’s heart hurt, but he wasn’t going to lose. He intensified his own face. There was a single whispered ‘fuck’ and Steve crumbled. 

“Why? Why can’t I win that?”

“Because I’ve had all the practice in the world, Steve. I learned how to stay resilient even when you were sick, and let me tell you, you had a pathetic mug.” Bucky scrunched his nose. “Still do, actually.” 

Steve didn’t say anything in response, just smiled a variation of Bucky’s smile, eyes soft. His hand brushed over Bucky’s and curse everything if that still didn’t cause an electric current to course through him. Bucky prayed he would never get used to the softness in which Steve touched him, not because he didn’t think he deserved it, but because he loved the way it made him feel. 

Steve didn’t move to do anything more, just cocked his head slightly and stared at him, eyes softening more than Bucky believed possible. He stared at Bucky with what Bucky called his artist eyes, where he simultaneously took in the individual parts and the whole. Bucky had used to hate it when Steve looked at him like that because he hadn’t wanted Steve to really see him. He hadn’t wanted to see the pity and the fear when he stumbled upon the parts Bucky hated. It had changed when he’d realized that Steve had seen him at his absolute worst and loved him in spite of it. 

“I love you because of it, Buck,” Steve said quietly, and it was only then he realized he’d said the words out loud. “Because you went through the absolute pits of hell and you didn’t let them break you. You’re still kind and generous, and you should be proud.” 

He still stared, but now his eyes were full of wonder as if he were seeing Bucky clearly for the first time and couldn’t help but be overwhelmed by what was there. And then Steve leaned forward and hesitantly brushed his lips over Bucky’s, acting as if they’d never expressed their feelings and he was taking a leap of faith. Bucky’s heart felt like it was going to jump out of his chest, his body burning at the barely there pressure. A light blush colored Steve’s cheeks when he pulled away. 

“I still wake up some days thinking it’s all been a dream,” he admitted. “I wake up thinking that I’m still going to be small, that I-that we-” Bucky stopped him by brushing a thumb over his lips. 

“It’s always been you, Steve,” Bucky told him. “It’s always going to be you.”

The way a lightbulb imprinted itself onto your eyelids long after you looked away, that was the way Steve’s smile lingered. If his laugh was the sun, then his smile was a supernova. Bucky would do anything to see that all the time. 

Bucky patted his cheek lightly. “Now, finish your breakfast and get your ass out of bed. I’ve been planning today for a while.” 

An hour later, they were in the car, the dogs in the backseat; (Natasha had agreed to take care of Alpine for the week). If Steve had been confused as to why Bucky had asked him to pack a bag, he didn’t show it. Conversation ebbed and flowed as the hours on the road continued. Steve wisely didn’t ask where they were going, just occasionally spent twenty minutes or so staring out the window, hands twitching as if they were itching to draw the scenery that was becoming more wild and rugged the farther north they drove. When this happened, Bucky would reach over and fold their fingers together. 

They’d been driving on a road flanked by thick forest for over an hour by the time Bucky turned onto a gravel road marked ‘private property’. He felt Steve’s eyes on him, and knew they would be full of questions, so he kept his eyes trained forward. Answers would come soon enough. Steve opened his window, letting in the fresh scent of pine and musty leaves in. Bucky immediately relaxed when he let out a soft laugh, sticking his hand out of the car just enough to be dappled in the sunlight that filtered through the trees. Bucky could only imagine how hyperactive his artist brain was at the moment. 

After another ten minutes, they reached the clearing and the cabin. The dogs immediately went to explore the perimeter when Bucky opened the back door for them. Steve stood in the middle of the yard, head tipped back, not even attempting to hide the wonder on his face. Bucky smirked, knowing he’d worn the same expression the first time he’d seen it, too. 

He’d first found the cabin after the events of D.C. Completely abandoned and in disarray, he’d made a project out of it, tying the restoration of his mind to the restoration of the building. When the paranoia of being found had grown too much, he’d fled the country and tried to restart his life in Romania. It was ironic; if he’d stayed at the cabin, it was likely he’d never have been found. Maybe subconsciously, being found was exactly what he’d wanted. He went over to stand by Steve. 

“I-what?” Steve breathed. 

“It’s mine. Well, _ ours _, I guess.” Bucky told him, enjoying the further look of bewilderment. 

“What?” he breathed again, finally really looking at the house. 

So, with quiet trepidation, Bucky told Steve how he’d found it. “Natasha did everything with legal, so it’s not like we’re trespassing.” 

“You did this?” 

“Well, not all of it, but yeah.” He didn’t know why he was suddenly so shy about it. 

“Those few weeks you disappeared in the first few months of living together, this is where you went, isn’t it?” Steve asked. 

Bucky nodded. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about it earlier. I guess I just thought if things didn’t work out and I wanted someplace to go, this would be it. And then it became very clear that things were going to work out, so...” he shrugged, gesturing to the house. “It’s here if we ever just want to get away from everything.” 

Steve walked forward, looking at the large winding porch that wrapped around to hug the left side of the house. A comfortable porch swing sat to the right of the door, looking out at the clearing that was full of wildflowers. 

“Do you like it?” Bucky asked, walking up to meet him again. 

He didn’t realize he was drumming his left fingers against his thigh until Steve reached out and took his hand. “Buck, I love it. This is incredible. Show me the rest?” 

That was all the encouragement Bucky needed. Calling the dogs back to their side, Bucky pulled Steve forward. After a second thought, he swung Steve into his arms, and (Steve laughing, Bucky grinning) walked over the threshold, only setting him down when they’d passed through the entry hall. 

Steve gaped at the floor to ceiling windows in the living room. They faced the forest, and it gave the distinct impression the dark pines were in the room with them. A huge sectional couch took up most of the room, but it was obvious that the focal point (apart from the windows), were the floor to ceiling bookshelves that spanned the back wall. A sliding ladder helped Bucky reach the books at the top. 

“I’m assuming Natasha helped with all the books?” 

Bucky nodded. After Steve had taken in the forest view, Bucky led him through the kitchen, allowing him to see the stainless steel appliances and fully stocked fridge. His heart rate increased the closer they came to the room Bucky was most excited (and nervous) for Steve to see. There wasn’t any way it could go wrong, but what if it did? 

“Close your eyes,” he instructed. Steve did, and Bucky carefully led him through the doorway, situating him in the middle of the room, facing the windows. He took a deep breath. “Okay.” 

***

Steve kept his eyes closed for a second longer, mentally preparing himself to see their bedroom. What he opened them to see was as far from that as possible. He blinked rapidly, making sure the scene didn’t change. When he was as positive as he could be that the room was real, he allowed himself to really look, and he found he had no words. 

Once again, there were floor to ceiling windows, but instead of facing the forest, they opened up to the lake that bordered their backyard. A huge desk took up half the wall, impeccably organized with drawers of colored pencils, paints, and pastels. Steve wondered how long they would stay that way. If the room had stopped there, he would have been more than content to sit at that desk for hours, sketching page after page of the scene in front of them. But it didn’t stop. An easel holding an empty canvas took up the rest of the wall. More canvases, organized by size, leaned against the wall. The rest of the walls were bare, free, Steve assumed, to hold whatever he wished, whether that be his own work or the work of others. It was the art studio he’d always dreamed of having, one that he’d told Bucky about before-

He turned to face Bucky, eyes burning with unshed tears, completely overwhelmed by the implication. He’d assumed this was just one of the many things that had been completely erased from his memory.“Buck-” 

Bucky’s eyes were soft and smiling. “Happy birthday, Stevie.” 

Steve pulled Bucky into a tight hug, hoping to convey how much this meant to him through touch alone. The room simply demanded creation, to be filled with color and texture. He felt alive in this room, the windows overlooking the ever-changing water. It was embarrassing, how long it had taken him to realize why art meant so much to him: for so long, it had been the only place he’d truly been allowed to be himself; it was a place he was forced to breathe. And the fact that Bucky was giving him a room in the house he’d considered keeping only to himself, a place he could get away to if things became too much...it was a lot. 

Bucky pushed him back and wiped a thumb across his cheek, taking a tear with it. “You okay, Stevie?” 

Steve chuckled wetly, wiping away more tears that seemed to spring up from nowhere. “I didn’t think you remembered that house we dreamed about. Not that it mattered, it’s completely improbable, but this...” he looked around the room, feeling more tears rise up. “I’m just... I don’t know what to say. Thank you.” He turned away for a second, trying to compose himself. “This is embarrassing.” 

Hands landed on his shoulders before rubbing up and down his arms. Steve leaned into Bucky’s chest and the arms wrapped around his waist. Steve crossed his arms to grab hold of Bucky. In a shuffle that should have been awkward for two men as large as them but was surprisingly graceful, they turned to face the windows again. Bucky rested his cheek against Steve’s head. 

Steve didn’t know how long they stood there in the soft pool of sunlight, staring out at the lake through the windows so large and clear it felt like they weren’t even there. Eventually, the dogs made their way into the room and three wet noses nudged them back into reality. It was like coming out of a trance, like coming back from a spell of dissociation, but rather than finding himself exhausted, Steve felt oddly energized. He slid his hand into Bucky’s. 

“Show me the rest?” 

“You’re not going to cry with every room I show you, right?” Bucky grinned at him, and god was he beautiful with the light framing his face perfectly. Steve wanted to ignore the fact he’d just asked to be shown the rest of the house and just start sketching. 

Instead, he just flicked Bucky off, ignoring the smile tugging at his lips as Bucky’s grin grew even wider. “Just show me the rest of the house, Barnes.” 

“Only because you asked so nicely, Rogers.” 

The rest of the house was what he expected. A screened-in dining room jutted out from the kitchen, giving a view of both the forest and the lake. Upstairs contained three bedrooms. Walking into the master bedroom, Steve found it difficult to contain his awe. The largest bed he’d ever seen in his life sat in the middle of the back wall, the bedspread a yellow that reminded him of sunflowers. Above the bed was one of Steve’s discarded paintings, one he’d thrown out in frustration after the product refused to match the image in his head. It had been an attempt of an abstract landscape done in only muted greys, blacks, and blues; a concept of what his vision had been like before the war. The only hint of color was the splotch of yellow in the right-hand corner; the sun. 

Now that he thought about it, all of the paintings he’d seen in the house were his. The thought made him strangely proud. All of them had been the ones he’d thought were a waste of time. Looking back, they were all from a series in which he’d tried to deconstruct his younger years. He’d hated them because they’d made his life seem beautiful. 

“You kept all of them, didn’t you?” 

“I hope that’s okay,” Bucky murmured. “I just thought they were too good to throw away; wanted them on a wall somewhere, even if I didn’t get to see them often. And, I didn’t want you to ever regret not having them.” 

“Can we go outside?” All of this was a little overwhelming. The thought that Bucky had always had a place to run away to should he have wanted to leave; the thought that his paintings had survived; the fact that Bucky had kept all of this from him; that until today, Bucky could’ve just left and Steve would’ve had no idea where he was. The fact that Natasha had known about this long before he had.

Bucky tugged him downstairs, outside onto the deck that bordered the dining room, and then down into the yard. When they were on the dock, rocking slightly with the gentle tide, they stopped. Steve sat, letting his feet dangle above the water. 

“I know it’s a bit much,” Bucky told him, sitting next to him, “but I wanted you to see it before I actually told you about it. I wanted you to see how it isn’t just mine; it’s yours, for whatever you want it for.” 

“Does anyone else know about it?” He needed to know how many others had known about it before him; how many people would’ve needed to lie to him should Bucky have wanted to disappear. 

“Only Nat. I was leaving, bag packed, and before I knew it, she was in the car with me. I don’t think she trusted me yet, so helping me get another place in order, somewhere far enough away from you and the rest of the world should I-” he shook his head. “At the time, it was in the best interests for everyone.” 

“You out here alone, me not knowing where you are, that’s never in my best interest, Buck.”

“You’re mad I took so long to tell you.”

Steve sighed and looked out at the lake. By sunset, he knew it would be impossible to tell where the water ended and the sky began. “It’s not that. My brain is just doing the thing where it overcomplicates everything, and none of it should matter because I trust you and you stayed and you’re showing me, but..” he looked at Bucky and then down at his hands. 

“You’re wondering if there were ever times I considered running away.” 

Steve nodded, still staring at his lap. “It shouldn’t matter-it doesn’t matter, but-” He stopped talking when Bucky slid his hand into his. The cool metal quieted his racing thoughts. 

“I only really considered it once after everything happened between us,” Bucky said, voice steady. “It was the week after I almost killed you. On the nights my brain got scary, I thought about packing a bag and running, to just stay here until I thought I could trust myself again.” 

“So why didn’t you?” 

“Really?” 

Steve looked up to find Bucky staring incredulously at him. “What?”

“You’re asking me why I didn’t run?” 

“It seems like a valid question, doesn’t it? I mean, you have all of this.” He used both hands to gesture to the beauty around him, taking Bucky’s hand with him.

There was no hesitation as Bucky answered him, and for as much as it sounded learned, it felt honest. “When you kissed me for the first time and told me that you loved me, I finally had everything I ever wanted from life. Yeah, my brain can be a terrifying place, but I never would’ve been able to look you in the eyes again. I would’ve lost everything again, and this time I wouldn’t’ve been able to blame anyone but myself. I mean, yeah, it’s beautiful here, but-” he suddenly looked shy, ducking his head and looking at Steve through a curtain of hair. “Why have all of this alone when I can have you? You’re the best thing in my life, Steve-” 

If he was going to say more, Steve didn’t care. He pressed his lips to Bucky’s, no longer caring what his mind was trying to spin. The only thing that mattered was that Bucky hadn’t left and they were here, together. Like he’d said before, he trusted Bucky. Bucky slid his right hand into Steve’s hair. The kiss felt almost desperate, and when Steve broke away, resting his forehead against Bucky’s, he was breathing heavily. 

“We’re here,” he murmured. “We’re here, and I love you, and anything else doesn’t matter.”

Bucky nodded. And then a grin broke across his face. “Well, I know one thing that might matter.” 

“And what would that be?” 

“Lunch.” 

And as if waiting for that cue, Steve’s stomach grumbled, loudly. Steve huffed a laugh and Bucky snorted. Without saying anything else, arms wrapped around the other’s waist, they made their way back up into the kitchen, where Steve fully showed his appreciation of the fully stocked fridge and pantry by eating no less than three grilled ham, cheese, and tomato sandwiches, chips, and watermelon. 

Steve couldn’t wait any longer to create art, so once the kitchen was cleaned up he dragged Bucky into his studio and set to work positioning him just so in order to get the light exactly how he wanted. And then he sketched. He couldn’t remember how long it had been since he’d sketched Bucky this way, with him as a model. Because of course he sketched him all the time, but Bucky was usually in the middle of doing other things. Or, he was just creating from memory. Steve hadn’t needed to look at Bucky in order to draw him in a long time. 

But this—Bucky sitting for him, his eyes sparkling every time Steve looked up from the page— he’d missed. One of the windows was open, allowing the cool breeze to fill the room. Apart from the sound of his pencil on the page, there was nothing but the sound of the waves, the rustle of the wind in the trees, and the natural noises of the forest. It was the most relaxed he’d felt in a while. 

When the preliminary sketch was finished, he took one of the 14x11 canvases and set it on the desk. Honestly, if he’d wanted to, he could’ve started on the canvas; he had enough practice drawing Bucky that a practice sketch could be seen as a waste of time, but Steve would never pass up an opportunity to draw the man he loved. 

By the time he looked up from the canvas, he’d finished the outline for his painting and his plan for colors, the sun had drastically lowered, and the room was empty. He vaguely remembered a kiss to the side of his head and murmured words, but he’d been so focused on his work he couldn’t give any more specifics. Neck stiff from looking down for so long, Steve rolled his shoulders back and pushed away from the desk, once more getting blown away by the view. He was coming to understand more and more why it had taken Bucky so long to bring him here; it really was just a little slice of heaven. 

Noise in the kitchen had him poking his nose out of his studio and padding through the house. Bucky was staring down at his cutting board, a smorgasbord of vegetables on the counter next to him, but he looked up when Steve pulled out a chair and sat. 

“And the great artist returns to the same plane of existence as the rest of us.” 

“Har har.” But he was smiling. It had been a while since he’d been so sucked into a project that he hadn’t realized how much time had passed. Then again, it had been a while since he’d dedicated time to a project. He’d just been doing a lot of sketches, ignoring the series he’d promised himself he’d do. 

“If I asked you to paint me something, would you?” Bucky asked. 

“Of course,” Steve replied. “Whatever you want.” 

“I want you to grab my phone and go to my camera roll. Third row from the bottom, second photo. I want you to paint that.” 

Steve grabbed Bucky’s phone, smiling at the lock screen photo (him dipping Bucky and kissing him at the Parade), and went to his camera roll. His heart dropped when he saw the photo was of him. Not that he was surprised, he’d just hoped it was nature, or the dogs, or anything else. He was laughing in it, and there was nothing but pure joy on his face. 

Bucky’s face was set when Steve looked up. It was clear he’d been planning this for a while now. “I want you to paint yourself the way you paint me, with kindness and grace. With beauty.” 

“You know I just paint what I see,” Steve blubbered. 

“I know. And this time, I want you to paint what I see.” 

_ Oh. _ For some reason, that hit Steve hard. It wasn’t that Bucky didn’t compliment him, he did. All the time. And it wasn’t that Steve didn’t believe him. He did. Most of the time. It was the flipping of his own ideology on himself that forced him to take a step back. He knew Bucky would never look at him the way he looked at himself. 

“I’ll try,” he promised. 

“You’re going to do more than try, Stevie. You’re going to succeed.” 

They spent the entire evening out on the deck, where there was a small, yet comfortable sectional in front of a large fire pit. The dogs sprawled across the wood, looking happy. Both Eva and Aapeli were sleeping, but occasionally opened an eye and lifted their heads to check in on their owners. Daisy was snoring, worn out from her romps around the yard.

At the moment, Steve lay curled with his head in Bucky’s lap, watching the flames lick at the wood. Occasionally, the embers popped, sending sparks into the smoke that curled its way up into the darkening sky. An owl hooted somewhere behind them. 

If it had been at any other point in his recovery, the silence would’ve unnerved him. Any crack of a stick or rustle of the undergrowth would’ve sent him on edge. His muscles would’ve coiled, waiting for the attack. Now, the quiet was what he enjoyed more than anything else. There were no cars, no shrieks from the neighbor’s kids, no fireworks. It was just them. It was everything he didn’t know he’d needed. 

“What made you decide to show me now?” 

“You did,” Bucky replied. Steve shifted so he was on his back, head still on Bucky’s lap. Bucky looked out at the lake. “You were getting tense, you hadn’t started a new project in a while, so I thought showing you this place would help you. And,” he looked down at Steve. “I wanted to give you the stars for your birthday.”

Steve shifted his gaze from Bucky’s to look at the clear sky. It would still be an hour or two before it was dark enough for the stars to show, but he could already imagine the swath across the canvas. A sliver of moon rode low on the horizon, Venus low in its orbit. 

At one point, Bucky returned to the house and came back carrying two roasting sticks, a bag of marshmallows, two bars of chocolate, and a box of graham crackers. Steve grinned. 

“I think it’s about time we finally make s’mores, don’t you think?” Bucky asked, setting the supplies down on the table next to him. 

“Only about seventy years too late. I’m pretty sure I told you I wanted one when we were in the Alps in ‘44.” 

“Hey, I tried. Blame Morita.” 

Steve took one of the sticks from Bucky and speared two marshmallows. Together, they held them above the embers, turning them every so often. 

“And why am I blaming Morita?” 

“The guy ate all of our supplies.” 

Steve snorted, pulled his marshmallows away from the fire, squinted at them, and stuck them back in. “So you’re telling me that the army supplied us with stuff for s’mores, and the only reason we weren’t able to make them was because Morita ate them?” 

“I’m not saying we had all the supplies at the exact same time, but we would’ve.” 

“So now you’re telling me James Buchannan Barnes couldn’t keep Jim Morita in line?” Steve pulled his marshmallows back again. Happy with the golden crust around them, he sandwiched them in between the chocolate and graham crackers and pulled the stick away. 

Before Bucky could answer, his marshmallows caught fire. He quickly extinguished them and sandwiched them the same as Steve. 

“To the first of what I assume will be many s’mores,” Bucky said, holding his up. Steve did the same. They clinked and then ate. 

“Fucking Morita,” Steve mumbled around the delicious mess in his mouth. And then it hit him. “Wait. You knew that Morita was sneaking our sweets and you didn’t say anything?” he asked without bothering to swallow first. 

“I didn’t want to provoke infighting. Dummy would’ve clocked him so hard he’d’ve forgotten who he was, Jonesie and Dernier would’ve, hell I don’t even know.” 

“I refuse to believe the unit would’ve fallen apart over chocolate.” They’d all been as thick as thieves. A family. Of course, they’d had the usual squabbles, but it had all been in good fun. They’d been on the same page when it had mattered. 

“If you knew how good that chocolate was, you might be saying otherwise,” Bucky muttered. 

“You were getting paid off! Why, you little sneak!” And he suddenly remembered a night in the Alps when Bucky had come back into their tent, hastily swallowing something and wiping his mouth with the back of his hands. Steve half laughed, turning so one of his legs was crossed under him, knee pressing into the back of the couch, and the other foot firmly on the ground. 

“I knew that was chocolate on your lips. You tried to convince me it wasn’t, made me half believe I was going crazy.” 

There was a wry smile on Bucky’s face when he finally looked at Steve. “Well, we all were. You weren’t special.” 

It felt good to talk about their time together during the war. They often didn’t. Remembering the good times before everything had fallen apart was easy. They each had three more s’mores. Steve didn’t manage to roast his marshmallows to perfection again. One of them had even fallen off and into the embers. All he said when Bucky laughed was that maybe if he’d been able to practice, if two someones hadn’t eaten their supplies, it wouldn’t have happened. Bucky just laughed harder. 

***

For all of Steve’s assurances he wouldn’t fall asleep, Bucky knew better and made them get ready for bed before stargazing. Hand in hand, they walked down to the dock, spreading one blanket out on the wood and curling up under the other. Steve tucked in next to him, staring upward. Bucky found himself caught between staring at the milky way and staring at Steve, who was staring at the milky way. 

Because while, sure, they’d seen it before when they’d spent time in the Alps, more than half of their mind was focused on their surroundings, fully prepared for attack. Here, they had nothing to worry about. Here, they could actually appreciate the beauty and not have to worry about what someone would say should they witness it. 

As always, Steve took the hand that held his and pointed out Orion. Bucky moved his hand slightly lower and traced Cygnus, Pegasus, and Cassiopia. He didn’t know how long they stayed out, nor did he care. At one point, when the stars started to move, Steve let out a small noise of wonder. Occasionally, Steve would look over to find Bucky staring and kiss him softly before looking back up. 

He did end up having to carry Steve back up to the house, his head in the crook of his neck, his breath soft in sleep. Careful not to wake him, Bucky tucked him into bed, kissed his forehead, and left the room after seeing Eva and Daisy curling up next to him. He would join in a while, but there was something he needed to do first. Settling himself on the porch swing with Aapeli at his feet and a cup of tea on the small table next to him, he rested his journal on his knees and started to write. 

_ Bucky, _

_ You’re incredibly happy right now. It’s kind of ridiculous how happy you are right now. You’re living the life you never thought you’d have and you believe you deserve it. You showed Steve the cabin today. Watching him see his studio for the first time is something you’ll never forget. That look of joy, that astonishment, that bliss, that’s something you created. No matter what your dreams bring, no matter how much they like to make you believe that you’re still just Hydra’s monster, you’re not. You are as far away from the Soldier as you can possibly be. _

_ You know you’re not ever going to be the man you were before the war, you know you’re never going to remember everything, and that’s okay. You remember what’s important. You remembered Morita paying you off in chocolate to keep you from spilling the beans on him. You are here. You’re building your life. _

_ So when things turn down, which you know will happen and it’s okay, remember today. Remember how Steve took your hand while you were sitting on the dock, remember how your spinning mind just stopped, remember how he kissed you and how he looked when he told you he loved you. Remember laying on the dock, the look on Steve’s face as he watched the stars. Remember sitting here, your dog at your feet, fireflies in your yard. Remember how you feel in this moment. At peace, content. Free. _

_ A List of Happy Things _

_ *the peace from this morning *kissing Stevie awake *that smile *He wants to be a dad *we’re going to be dads together *the drive to the cabin, singing to whatever came on the radio *Stevie seeing the cabin for the first time *Stevie seeing his studio for the first time *watching Stevie in his element as he worked *making s’mores for the very first time *little me is quaking *stargazing *this is my normal _

_ Just remember. Take a deep breath. You’re not alone anymore. You’re never going to be alone again. Now get your ass up to bed, hold your man close, and know this will be your life until the end. _

_ Yours, always and forever, _

_ Bucky _

Bucky ended up sitting out on the porch for a few more minutes, cupping the mug of warm tea in his hands and staring out at the yard. The wind blew, rustling the branches of the pine. Animals chattered deep in the trees. Somewhere, a wolf howled. He breathed in. He breathed out. Draining the rest of his tea, he stood, patted his knee, and followed his instructions. 

Steve curled into him as soon as he got into bed, draping an arm over his stomach, his head over his heart. Bucky’s fingers played with the hair at the nape of his neck before settling his arm around Steve’s shoulders. He barely heard Steve whisper ‘I love you’ before he was asleep. 

They stayed in the cabin for a week, each morning waking up early and sitting out on the dock with mugs of coffee in hand, Bucky leaning against Steve’s chest, as they watched the sun rise, the mist burning off the still water. After breakfast, they hiked through the woods, finding trails easy enough for Daisy to join them. 

For a few hours each afternoon, Steve worked in his studio, finishing the painting of Bucky and starting the practice sketches for the piece Bucky had requested. During this time, Bucky would either watch him work, or sit outside and read. Before dinner, they went swimming. Well, more accurately, Bucky wrapped himself around Steve while Steve tread water. Every night, they roasted marshmallows and watched the stars.

They slept like the dead, falling asleep minutes after laying down and only waking when it was time to watch the sun rise. No dreams bothered them. And for one of the first times, they were both happy for the break, because even good dreams couldn’t compete with their days. And really, why live through dreams when life is all you need? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter soundtrack: Robin Hood (Oo de lally is a bop)
> 
> Okay, so my life is about to get really super crazy. Your author now has a full-time job (yay! I'm finally going to make some money again) and hopefully has an apartment she's going to be moving into in a few weeks. I'm still hoping to update semi-regularly, but I have absolutely no idea what my life will look like these next couple weeks. So, please be patient. You can be content knowing this fic will never be abandoned. Once my life has settled, I'll be able to figure out a schedule. 
> 
> Kudos and comments give me life <3


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, you have to stumble and fall before you learn to run. Or, the healing power of art.

“I need to try something, so please, just go with it,” Steve said. 

They were in his room, where they had just finished converting it into a makeshift studio. His bed had been moved into the basement. In its place were shelves (organized by Bucky) of overflow supplies. It was actually possible to see the surface of his desk now, something Steve had realized he hadn’t seen in quite a while. It wasn’t necessary when he was just sketching or working on his tablet. Or, as had been the case for the last month or so, not making art at all. 

The canvas for his fourth attempt at the painting Bucky requested was sitting at his desk. The past three canvases were in the trash, destroyed beyond use by his frustration. No matter what he tried, he hadn’t been able to reproduce his practice sketches. (Or maybe he had, he was just so used to hating his appearance that he wasn’t able to recognize a good sketch of himself when it happened). 

Bucky stood at his side, waiting to be told what to do. Before he lost his nerve, Steve had him sit in his desk chair. Steve sat on his lap. For just a moment, he allowed himself to lean against Bucky’s chest, taking comfort from his warmth. After a settling breath, he picked up his pencil, wrapped Bucky’s right hand around his, and started to sketch. 

The idea of doing this had come to him the previous night when he’d been trying (and failing) to fall asleep. This painting had done nothing but terrorize his thoughts since coming home from the cabin three weeks ago. It wasn’t that he hadn’t done paintings of himself before. He had. Well, one. The first part of the series he’d promised himself he’d do and hadn’t. It was still unfinished. The painting itself didn’t scare him. It was being kind enough to himself to paint what Bucky saw that had him terrified. 

He hated that he still couldn’t recognize that he was beautiful. In all modern standards of beauty, he knew he was attractive. He saw it enough on the streets, where people just stared at him. He knew they didn’t stare because he was Captain America—it was really only kids who recognized him without the uniform. They stared because of his body. His broad shoulders and small waist. The serum was supposed to make it better. It was supposed to take away the frail, sickly body that was disparaged by everyone who saw it. It was supposed to make him the same as everyone else. It wasn’t supposed to make him Adonis. 

He just wanted to be known for himself, rather than his body. That was how Bucky saw him, he knew it was, but because he was always only a body, that was all he could see. He was trying. Really. Every evening, he stood in front of the mirror and stared at himself. He chose things he was going to love. At this point, he knew he’d chosen almost everything. The only problem was putting it together. And if he could just get over himself and figure out this painting, maybe he’d be able to get past whatever was in his head. Because he knew Bucky found him beautiful; he knew Bucky had found him beautiful before the serum; he knew Bucky loved him for all of him rather than just his body. 

Bucky curled his left arm around Steve’s waist and rested his chin on his shoulder. “And what is it you’re doing?” he asked after ten minutes of silence. 

“I’m drawing myself the way you would,” Steve replied. “I know it’s still me doing it, but I’m trying to trick my brain. If it sees your hand doing the work, even if I’m the one doing it, I’m hoping it will let me draw myself for who I am, rather than what everyone else sees.” 

Bucky fell silent. Every once in a while, Steve felt a kiss pressed to his shoulder. Occasionally, it was his cheek. Through everything, Steve just drew. Or, he tried to. His face he was able to do. His face wasn’t what he had problems with. After the fifth attempt of his shoulders and waist, he shoved the canvas away, cradling his head in his hands. Tears pressed against his eyes. His breath grew rapid.

“I can’t do it.” 

“You can,” Bucky murmured, rubbing his hands up and down his arms. “I believe in you.” 

“No. I can’t.” 

Everything was too much, the pencils scattered over the desk, the eraser flecks, the wrongness of the sketch on the canvas, the thoughts running in circles around his head. Feeling like he would explode if he didn’t get out, Steve pushed himself from Bucky’s lap and stumbled from the room. His back was against the tree, Eva between his legs, when the panic attack fully made itself known. 

Bucky just couldn’t understand; he’d always been beautiful. Steve hadn’t. Only his ma had seen him that way, and wasn’t that what a mother was supposed to say? If she was the only one, and everyone else said the opposite, weren’t they in the right? They weren’t, he  _ knew _ that, he did, and he wanted to believe it, he just couldn’t. 

His head hit against the tree. His nails pressed crescents into his palms to prevent him from picking at his fingers. Eva wormed herself closer to him, licking his face. His hands found her scruff and buried into it. That was how Bucky found him. His breathing had calmed somewhat, but there were still occasional heaves for air. Tears still burned his eyes, but they hadn’t fallen yet. 

“I can’t do it,” he whispered as Bucky sat beside him. “You don’t understand.” 

Bucky folded one of Steve’s hands into his. “So help me to.” 

“You don’t know what it’s like to hate what you see in the mirror.” 

Soft metal touched his chin. Steve looked up. “You think I don’t know?” Bucky pulled off his shirt and arm, leaving nothing but the soldered metal of his left shoulder. “You think I don’t know what it’s like to look in the mirror and not recognize the person you see?” 

Steve reached out and brushed his fingers over the puckered ridges of scars extending towards his chest. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen them, but it was the first time he really made himself look at them. He’d never asked about them, not wanting Bucky to relive that trauma to satisfy cruel fascination. 

“When I first woke up after the fall, I was still myself,” Bucky said softly, putting his hand over Steve’s. “I saw this thing on my arm and I wanted it off. I was half-delirious from the pain, my fingernails dark with my own blood, when they pumped me with sedatives.” 

A cry tore itself from Steve’s throat. Bucky turned so his back was facing Steve and guided Steve’s hand between his shoulder blades. The entire width was marked with white scars that looked almost surgical in their precision. “Before the Soldier completely took over, this was how they tallied every time I disobeyed.” 

Steve whimpered. Bucky turned back and twined their fingers. “I didn’t ask for this body, either. This for me is like if you woke up small one day without warning, and it’s something I need to grapple with every day. It was exhausting until I learned to put my energy into being kind to what life has brought me rather than fighting it.”

Bucky paused for a moment, biting his bottom lip. “Steve, I wouldn’t make you do anything I didn’t think you could do. I just want to do for you what you did for me.” 

“What did I do?” It was whispered, the only thing he had strength for. 

Bucky took his hand back and grabbed his arm from the grass, setting it in Steve’s lap. The pastel flowers gleamed in the late afternoon light. Steve traced one of the flowers and then looked back up at Bucky.

“You helped me believe it could be beautiful.” 

The dam that had blocked the flood finally broke. Bucky folded Steve into him as he finally cried out everything he’d held in for his entire life. His mother had told him he was beautiful, yes, but this was the first time he was told he could believe it. Eva whined softly, doing her best to lick away his tears as he cried into Bucky’s shoulder. 

When he hiccoughed, his tears mostly gone, Bucky pushed him away so he could wipe them away. His eyes were soft. They were always able to see what the other wasn’t. “I’m not asking you to love everything. I’m just asking yourself to be kind.”

“I want to,” Steve said, voice ragged. “I’ve tried. I can’t believe myself.” If he’d never thought himself beautiful before, why should he believe himself?

Bucky put on his arm and shirt and moved so he sat in front of him, their knees matching. “Do you believe me?” 

Steve nodded. 

“Do you trust me?” 

Always. Forever. Bucky could ask him to jump off a cliff and he would trust that he would stay safe. 

“Then close your eyes.” 

Steve did. Feather-light fingers brushed over his skin. Soft metal and warm flesh. He shivered. 

“Back in the 30s, I kept a running list of everything about you I found beautiful, of everything I loved. Every night before I fell asleep, I would run through it because even if I couldn’t love you for the world to see, you still had my heart. I still do it because it reminds me of everything I have.”

Fingers brushed over his eyes. “I love your eyes, their blue, the way they always tell me exactly how you’re feeling. The way I’ve always been able to look at them and be home.” A light kiss landed on each eyelid. Fingers brushed over his nose. “I love how this scrunches when you laugh so hard you forget how to breathe.” Another kiss landed. Fingers traced his lips. “I love how you’re not afraid to back your morals. You’ve taught yourself how to stand up, how to talk about what you need to, even if it’s hard.” 

Even though he knew it was coming, the brush of Bucky’s lips against his brought goosebumps to his arms. His heart fluttered. 

Bucky’s fingers and lips journeyed to his shoulders. “These are the same shoulders I used to love when they carried the world, and because of that, these are the shoulders that helped you to stand up when the world pushed you down. These are the shoulders I’ve cried on when I’ve had no other place, where I’ve been comforted, where I’ve rested my head and slept.” 

To his collarbone. “I love this freckle. Throughout everything, it’s stayed the same, and it’s always made me happy.” 

To his arms. “These are the arms that carried me when I couldn’t carry myself. These are the arms that have saved me, that have held me, comforted me, made me feel your love.” 

To his feet. “These are the feet that carried you through the years; that carried you to me. These are the feet that step on mine when we dance.” 

With every new addition, Steve felt closer to tears, completely overwhelmed with the amount of love. This was  _ his _ body Bucky loved, and it wasn’t because of what it looked like, but because of how it made him himself. This was the body that saved him so he could live this life. 

Bucky lifted Steve’s hands and matched their palms. “These are the same hands that fought for what you believed in. The same hands that sketched and painted the streets of our city, that can create images of myself that made me believe I was still beautiful.” Bucky shifted his hand slightly so their fingers locked. “The same hands that fit so perfectly in mine. That touch me in a way that makes me believe I deserve the love you give me.” 

Bucky kissed every single finger, saving his crooked right pinky (he’d badly broken it in one of his fights as a young boy) for last. He kissed his palms. His knuckles. 

And then, he rested his hand over Steve’s heart. Steve couldn’t help but open his eyes. Bucky stared at him, eyes steel blue and everything he’d come to associate as home. “This is what I love the most. The heart that has always been three sizes too big, wide enough to love the entire world. The heart that has loved me through time, that has never given up on me.” 

Bucky wet his lips. “This is why it hurts me to see you hate yourself, because where you see ugly, I see strength. I see a man who has faced the world at its worst and come out all the more kind and gracious. I see the man I’ve loved since before I knew what it was to love.” 

A few tears ran down his cheeks. Bucky wiped them away. “You’re beautiful, Steve. Not because of your body, but because of who you are. This body has its perks, yes, and I would be lying to say I don’t enjoy it and find it magnificent and beautiful, but I loved you before the serum. I love you now. I’ll love you when we’re old and grey.” 

Steve found he could say nothing. He sat frozen, his seams ripped open by the gentle lips of the man sitting in front of him. If he moved, he knew he would never be able to pick himself back up. Bucky moved so he could pull him against his chest. Eva laid at his side and pressed herself against his leg. With every stroke of fingers through his hair, with every press of lips against his temple, Steve felt himself sewn back together with thread made of kindness and love rather than hate. 

He didn’t know how much time had passed when he knew what he needed to do. It could’ve been minutes. It could’ve been hours. It could’ve been days. He knew Bucky would’ve held him through all of it. While he was exhausted, he knew it was what he needed. It was the last step of putting himself back together again. 

“Buck?” 

“Hmm.” 

“I want to try again.” 

Despite Bucky’s protestations after his second (and third—smaller, but still there) panic attack in the same afternoon, despite Bucky trying to physically remove him from the room, Steve refused to stop working. Not only did he manage to finish the sketch, Steve was proud of it. He was proud of the slope of his shoulders, the girth wide enough to bring Bucky comfort. He was proud of the curve of his waist, even smiling when the glide of his pencil brought to life the place Bucky placed his hand when they danced. 

By the time it was finished, he was too soul weary to even be hungry. He only ate to keep Bucky happy. By the time his plate was clean, he barely had the energy to stand. When Bucky led him to the bathroom, Steve allowed him to take off his clothes and lead him into the shower, where he gently washed his hair and body. A soft towel dried him off, and then he was stepping into sweatpants, a loose t-shirt coming over his head. 

“Thank you, Buck,” he whispered, leaning his head on his shoulder. 

“Anything for my best guy,” Bucky whispered back. 

When Bucky made to help him out of the bathroom, Steve held on to the counter. “Can I have a moment alone? Please?”

Bucky gave him a long stare before finally nodding. He pressed his lips to Steve’s forehead. After another look, Bucky took a breath and left the bathroom, closing the door behind him. Steve stared at the closed door for a moment and then turned to face the mirror. Normally, he would take off his shirt to complete his nightly routine of trying to convince himself he was beautiful, but he was too exhausted to do anything other than look. 

Three deep breaths were taken. He lifted his eyes from the counter. Blue eyes looked back, observing him with the same exhaustion he felt deep in his soul. For the first time, he forced himself to see what was actually there, rather than what he’d been conditioned to believe from the countless voices from his childhood. It was a startling difference to see the man who was actually there rather than the garbled version he’d learned to hate. 

The man who watched him in the mirror had survived everything put in his path created to destroy him. The man who watched him in the mirror had a life he wanted to live. The man who watched him had love that had spanned hate and time. The man in front of him was beautiful. 

It might take time for it to be second nature to believe that, but for the first time, he didn’t leave the bathroom feeling like he lied to himself. 

Bucky was sitting on the edge of their bed, looking down at his lap, when Steve came into the room. Daisy lay curled beside him, Aapeli at his feet, and Alpine on his shoulder. Steve knew by the furrow between his brows and the way he rubbed his thumb that Bucky was upset with him. Rather than confront it, Steve curled up in a ball and scratched Eva’s ears when she came to sit beside him. 

It was quiet for a few minutes. Steve waited for the other shoe to drop. When Bucky finally did speak, his voice was quiet. There was no anger, no force. There was just sad disappointment. And when Steve looked back on it later, he realized it sounded scared. 

“I didn’t like how hard you pushed yourself today. It felt like you didn’t care. It made me wonder if this is what you were like before you crashed the plane.” 

Steve had thought he was all out of tears but one pressed itself up, wetting his pillow. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. He wanted to explain that he’d needed to keep going, that if he didn’t get the sketch done today it would’ve been a similar experience tomorrow, that the second and third panic attacks were actually him growing and pushing past the lies in his brain, but he didn’t know how. 

Another minute of silence passed, both of them on separate sides of the bed. Then there was a shifting of weight and arms wrapped around him. Bucky’s chest pressed against his back. Both of them breathed easier. Another tear landed on his pillow. 

“I just don’t want to lose you when we’re finally happy.”

Steve wanted to say that he wasn’t going anywhere, but lost in the safe embrace of the man he loved, he was asleep before he could finish thinking the words. 

***

Bucky stayed wrapped around Steve for another hour, needing the reassurance that he was there and safe. His breathing, calm and steady, soothed Bucky. It wasn’t enough to let him fall asleep, but for the first time since this afternoon, he wasn’t on edge. 

If Bucky had known just how much work Steve still needed to do with his body dysmorphia (a phrase he’d learned from Dr. Scheinbaum while working through his relationship with his arm); if he’d known even sketching himself would lead to three panic attacks, he didn’t know if he would’ve requested the painting. He’d thought that Steve’s sessions both with Dr. Scheinbaum and in the bathroom had had more of an impact. He was upset that Steve hadn’t taken a break. He was upset that when Steve had told Bucky he wanted to try again, he was still shaking. 

Despite all of that, he didn’t regret that he pushed Steve to face it head on. Based on his reactions, there hadn’t been any way he was going to do it himself, and while Dr. Scheinbaum was good at making them face uncomfortable truths, she couldn’t help with what they refused to speak about. He wasn’t upset that he’d been able to finally tell Steve the list he’d been curating since he was thirteen. 

It was moments like those that he understood just a little more of why Steve had been the way he was as a kid. Bucky had known there was pain; he just hadn’t realized how deeply it was woven into Steve’s design. Watching the pain loosen on Steve’s face with each new word he said, Bucky had thought he was going to cry. 

Carefully sitting up to avoid jostling Steve, Bucky stared down at the man who was deep in slumber. It was at times like this he wished he could let Steve into his mind; he wanted Steve to actually see himself through his eyes. He wanted him to know that even when tears streaked his cheek, Bucky found him beautiful. 

There had been a moment soon after Steve had rescued him from Azzano that Steve had made a comment on his height, saying that Bucky was finally able to look up to him. Still too pumped with the Red Skull’s poisons to trust his words, he’d just chuckled. They’d never spoken about it again. It was only at times like this that Bucky remembered it. 

If Steve could know his mind, he would know that Bucky had looked up to him from the beginning. 

-

All in all, it had taken five canvases, one more panic attack, and two more sessions of Bucky listing everything he loved about Steve. He’d wanted to sit in Steve’s studio with him while he worked, but Steve wouldn’t allow it. It interfered with his creative process, he said. Bucky doubted it. It was only after Steve promised to get him as soon as he felt even a little overwhelmed that Bucky agreed to let him work. 

He spent a week holed up in his room, only emerging when it was time to eat, take the dogs out, or go to bed. Each time, he’d always had paint in the most obscure places; the crook of his elbow, between his shoulder blades, his foot. Bucky didn’t ask. He was just happy each time Steve emerged, he looked more content. Each time he emerged, Bucky could almost see him grow looser, as if the tight ball of pain he’d held on for so long was slowly unraveling. 

Bucky was just returning from work when he saw Steve standing in the living room, Eva at his side, a hesitantly ecstatic expression on his face. There was yellow paint on his cheek and nose, as if he’d absentmindedly scratched his face. Bucky unhooked Aapeli and rubbed Daisy’s ears. 

“I finished,” Steve finally blurted. 

Bucky felt his grin wanting to explode, but he held it back. “And? How do you feel?” 

“Good. Really good. I’m ready for you to see it now, if you want to.” 

Bucky crossed the gap between them in three steps and crushed his lips against Steve’s. In his enthusiasm, Bucky lifted him from the ground. He felt Steve’s laugh before he heard it. When Bucky set him down, Steve’s smile was shy but eager, his bottom lip between his teeth. 

“Is that a yes?” 

“What do you think, you punk?” 

Steve took Bucky’s hand and led him to his studio. The first thing Bucky noticed was the mess. At least one thing had never changed over the years. When he was fully immersed in a project, Steve became completely oblivious to anything else. Sheets of paper littered the floor, covered in paint swatches. Empty bottles of oil paint were on the ground beside the overflowing trash can. Clean(!) paintbrushes sat drying in the windows. 

His desk was void of everything except the canvas. Bucky looked to Steve, who nodded. He took the two steps necessary to reach the desk. Even if he’d wanted to hide his gasp, it wouldn’t have been possible. In all of the visions he’d had in this painting, Steve had surpassed all of them. It was honest without being cruel. It was stunning. Most of all, it was Steve. 

Barring his eyes and mouth, a bright yellow had been smeared across the right side of his body. Ridges lined his shoulder where he’d picked up the palette scraper. Each part of his body was then layered with different shades of yellow, high ridges forming where they met, and highlighting the sections of his body that had been drastically changed by the serum. Golden shoulder, ochre waist, sunflower hand. A mellow mustard had been used for his hair and had been scraped away to reveal patches of the bright base yellow. His chest remained the bright yellow. His face was the only place he’d used shading. After the violence of the yellows, the blue of his eyes was shocking. 

His left side was composed of shades of silver and grey, the intensity matching its counterpart. A stormy blue (the same color as Bucky’s eyes) had been layered over his heart. To finish, he’d spattered the grey with a mixture of the yellows. He’d done the same to the right side, spattering the yellow with flecks of grey. 

The background had been done in watercolor. Pale flowers surrounded him in hues of blues, pinks, and purples. Even though Bucky wasn’t in the portrait, it felt like he was there, woven into the very fabric of the canvas. 

Bucky took a step back to look at the painting from afar and found he loved it even more. It was textured. Layered. It honored his disabilities without mocking him. From Bucky’s vantage point, the ridges looked almost like scars, but created in such a way they felt accepted. They weren’t there because Steve hated them, but because they were part of him. He wouldn’t be the man standing behind Bucky if he didn’t have them. 

“What do you think?” Steve asked. There was so much anxiety in his voice it sounded like it was undone. 

Bucky had to tear himself away from the canvas in order to look at him. He looked at the floor, scuffing a pattern into the carpet with his toe. It was as if all his confidence had left him when he’d allowed Bucky through the door. Bucky took his hands, smiling when he saw the yellow paint embedded in his nails. 

“I don’t have the words.” 

“But you like it?” He still stared at the floor. 

Bucky lifted his chin, gutted by the way Steve still kept his gaze down. Bucky wanted to kill every person who had ever made him feel this way about himself. 

“Stevie, I love it.” 

***

It was the first piece of his own artwork to go in the living room. 

At first, despite him being proud of it, he refused to look at it. He hated it. He loved it. Most of all, he was embarrassed by it. Embarrassed at the fuss he’d thrown during the process of making it. Embarrassed that it made him start thinking that maybe Bucky and his ma were right. Embarrassed that it scared him to start letting go all of the hate he’d been taught to internalize. Hate that deep might consume a lot of energy, but it was all he knew. 

It was something he needed to let go of one day at a time. He just needed to learn how to walk. 

Every night, he continued to look at himself in the mirror. He continued to tell himself he was beautiful. Some days, he believed himself. 

And then one day, he found himself in front of the canvas. It was his day off from the shelter. Bucky was at the garage. Like with most things he wanted to run from, he found himself trapped. Frozen. He stared at his laughing face, the sparkle in his eye, the chest that almost seemed to rise and fall. He was faced with the uncomfortable thought that he might have made it too beautiful. It would’ve been so easy to add details so tiny Bucky wouldn’t have been able to see them that mocked him. 

So why didn’t he? 

He stared at the shades of yellow and grey, the only hints he’d given to his past deafness and inability to see color. Phantom lips brushed his skin, soft words of love in his ears. 

Because maybe he wanted to feel like he was the man Bucky described. Because maybe after thirty-three years, he was tired of hating himself. 

So Steve did what he did best. He picked up his sketchbook and pencil. It didn’t take long to have the barebones of his face mapped out. Colored pencils scattered across the coffee tables. For the first time, he made his pre-serum face something resembling beautiful. When Bucky got home and pressed a kiss to his forehead, he said nothing. But if Steve had looked up to watch Bucky turn into the kitchen, oh how he would’ve seen him smile. 

Dressed in nothing but a pair of boxers, it was the most undressed Steve had ever gone to bed. He knew Bucky stared, but he knew it was because of his lack of clothes rather than his body. Unless it was Bucky removing them, he’d rarely ever been this nude. 

It was both terrifying and exhilarating. 

“Is this supposed to be a hint?” Bucky asked from where he was lounging under the covers. He too wasn’t wearing a shirt, but that had become normal after he’d started accepting his shoulder. 

“Do you want it to be a hint?” Steve asked back, pulling back the covers. He needed to yank them to get them free from Daisy’s body. She didn’t stop snoring. Steve rolled his eyes fondly. 

“I think Sam and Natasha would want it to be.” Bucky said it with an unamused smile. 

“Why are they so invested in our sex life?” 

“I’m guessing it’s because if we’re having sex, we’re less likely to leave the other. They don’t want to deal with that bullshit again.” 

Steve stopped from where he was plugging in his phone and turned to face Bucky, one leg bent to rest on the bed, the other on the floor. “They do know that even before we had sex, we were hard-pressed to be separated, right? It’s not like what happened to us was by our choice.” 

Bucky returned to looking at his book, a small furrow between his eyes. “Do you ever wish none of this had happened. That America hadn’t joined the war, that I hadn’t gone overseas, that you never became Captain America?” 

Steve took his time before answering, getting under the covers and situating himself. Daisy draped herself over his knees and continued sleeping. He played with her ears in order to not see the war play itself out in front of him. 

“I wish I hadn’t seen everything I was forced to, but no, I don’t regret it.” He turned to Bucky, watching the profile he’d memorized a thousand times over. Sharp bones and soft skin and love stained lips. Eyes that had witnessed everything they weren’t designed to. “You must, though—the Soldier.” 

Bucky looked back at him, a strange, unfathomable expression masking his face. Steve had worn it enough to understand it, even if it was impossible to define. 

“But I don’t.” 

The furrow between his eyes grew deeper. Steve waited for him to continue. Bucky blinked. He breathed. 

“I regret the people he killed, the lives he damaged, but he saved my life. I realize that now. He protected me. Hydra had their weapon, and he had my hands and my face, I have his memories, but they never had me.” 

Steve didn’t know if Bucky realized he’d taken his hand. He worried Aapeli’s ear with the other. 

“I think I created him, Steve. I think I created him because I was too scared to die. I think I created him so that when you found me, I would still be worth the effort of saving.” 

So it was a night for truths. Steve had one that he’d been holding back since 1941. Oppressive air filtered in from the open window. Thunder rolled across the sky. Fitting, Steve thought, for the storm that would break should he admit his secret. Bucky had deserved to know since the beginning, but Steve had been too proud to admit it. Or, maybe, too cowardly. Maybe with him, they were one in the same. 

Rain drizzled. 

Three words. That’s all he needed to say. Three words that had sat on his conscience, waiting for the right time to destroy something crucial. Three words that would mean more to Bucky than they had ever meant to Steve. Five times, he tried to say them. It was only fair after Bucky’s confession. Five times, they refused to speak. 

“Would you still love me if it hadn’t been the Soldier who’d done all those things?” Bucky asked in that same quiet voice. 

“I was dying,” Steve said in a voice just as small. It was the only way the words allowed him to give them life. 

Thunder rolled. Lightning snapped. Rain thundered. Bucky’s eyes ignited. 

Steve focused on the comforter pooled between his knees. He was now realizing the stripes were made of flowers. 

“It’s why I was so desperate to join. I wanted to fight for something that actually had meaning.” It’s why the year before Bucky left had been so bad. It was why they’d had so many fights that left him wondering why Bucky stayed. 

“When?” Bucky’s voice crackled. “What?” 

“July, 1941.” He wondered why it was so hard to say now when there was no way it could hurt him. “Lung cancer.” 

Bucky closed his eyes. The wind howled. His pained, heavy sigh was a more terrible sound. “You said the bloody tissues were from nosebleeds.” 

Steve knew he shouldn’t be surprised at how quickly Bucky had been able to make the connection. He wondered how many times Bucky had needed to convince himself that Steve’s lie was true. 

“You should’ve told me. I had money saved, we could’ve found medicine-” 

“From where, Buck? No one would’ve wasted it on me, not after ma was gone.” Pain lashed at the memory. “The doctor that told me was laughing.” 

“I would’ve stayed back. I could’ve taken care of you.” 

“And have had you get conscripted instead? How do you think I’d have felt getting a letter of condolence because you were too worried about me to protect yourself?” 

Bucky looked almost desperate now. Steve knew what he was going to say before it came. 

“I would’ve gathered my courage to tell you how I felt. I wouldn’t have wasted time—I would’ve kissed you.” 

“And gotten yourself killed as well?” He knew they wouldn’t have left Bucky alive if they’d known Steve was the reason he liked men. His bare chest felt like a sin. 

The next words were said in that terrible quiet voice. “What’s the use of living without you?” 

“Don’t say that.” 

“Why not? You did.” 

Steve suddenly wished he hadn’t said anything. Ice numbed his feet. Metal creaked around him. He wondered what it would be like to die in the embrace of a lover. Thunder cracked. Lightning roared. Steve wondered if they had somehow manifested it. 

“You’ve always been everything, Steve.” 

And as much as it burned Steve to know that they were the ties keeping each other bound to life, that without each other, life was essentially meaningless, there was something about Bucky’s confession that settled him; to know that even back then, Bucky would’ve done anything if it meant they got to stay together felt like a promise to the future. 

“I deserved to know, Steve.” It was that same terrible voice that Steve hated. Nothing ever good came from a voice sounding like that. It was hearing it that reminded Steve why he’d never had the courage to have the conversation. He’d had it a thousand times over in his head. Somehow, this was more terrible than all of them combined. In his mind, Bucky had yelled. 

There was quiet. Steve stared at his hands. He didn’t know when Bucky had taken his back. There was a sharp pain when his nail bit into his thumb. Eva jumped onto the bed and shoved her nose under his hands. He wanted to say sorry, but his voice wouldn’t work. 

“So they both saved us then.” There was an entire storm in Bucky’s words. “The Soldier saved me from being a monster, and the Captain saved you from dying alone.” 

It seemed like a very apt summary. 

And then: “Is this why normal life feels so boring sometimes?” 

Despite the pit Steve felt growing in his stomach, the seeds of a smile were sown and watered. “You love the boring days. They mean you don’t have to get off the couch.” 

“That couch was the best financial decision we’ve ever made.” 

Steve just let out a single huff of agreement. He pulled the covers up his chest, now fully uncomfortable in the state of his nakedness. He wanted to get up and find a shirt, but he couldn’t will himself to move. 

He shouldn’t have said anything. 

“Stevie?” 

Steve realized when he looked over that Bucky had been trying to get his attention for a while. 

“Hmm.” 

“Are you doing okay?” 

It was a lie, but he nodded. 

“It’s just that-” Bucky shook his head. “You know what—never mind.” It looked like he was on the verge of saying more when he reached a hand out. “I love you.” 

The rain turned gentle. The trees sighed. Steve took his first breath without the burn of unshed tears. “I love you, too.” 

Taking the invitation he knew it was, Steve carefully maneuvered himself around the three sleeping dogs and rested his head over Bucky’s chest. His skin was hot. His heart thundered. Steve’s shoulder burned where Bucky rested his hand. Fire seared his spine, mapping the path his fingers traveled. Lips pressed against the top of his head. Steve breathed. Bucky breathed. 

“I know why you didn’t tell me,” Bucky murmured later. “You wanted to keep feeling like you were alive. 

Steve didn’t answer. The healing rain continued. His wounds stitched themselves together. Bucky’s heart tattooed his ear with a promise. 

Alive. Alive. Alive. 

***

Bucky liked to read. No. He loved to read. He preferred his books hardcover to paperback, and paperback to virtual—but he couldn’t deny there was something about the feel of a soft cover, worn almost velvet over time. It meant they had a history of love. It made him wonder if his steel edges would wear away one day. 

The last book he’d finished, he’d bought from a box at their local second-hand. It had an incriminating stain on the bottom left corner that Bucky knew from experience wasn’t blood. It was a book on tarot. He’d been pulled in by the cover; two skeletons in a lasting embrace. Only later did he realize it was the card titled ‘the lovers’. 

Steve breathed in the darkness of the room, not quite soft or deep enough to actually be sleeping. Bucky’s right hand continued its path up and down the ridges of his spine. Across the smooth and puckered expanse of scars. 

It didn’t take a psychic to know what card they would be. Death shrouded them. Bucky had become it. Steve had denied it. 

Their hearts beat in unison. Loud and present. 

He stared at the ceiling. Listened to the rain. 

Bucky had always known Steve was going to die young. Both of them had needed to come to terms with that. Every cough, every fever, Bucky’s heart had stuttered. Maybe it thought that if it left his chest for Steve’s, the fear of waking up to find him gone would end. It’s not like his heart had ever belonged to him anyway. 

Steve shifted slightly, burrowing closer. Tension rolled his shoulders. Bucky held him tighter. Kissed his head. Breathed just a hair louder.

_ Lung cancer _ . His mind replayed the two words until he couldn’t breathe, until he believed  _ he _ was the one who’d been sick. There was a sick irony to it. Steve, who’d struggled to grow since his birth, being slowly strangled by something that refused to stop. 

He imagined leaving for the war. He imagined coming home. He imagined finding out that he’d left only weeks before Steve had died. He imagined knowing that he’d left him to die alone and angry, but most of all scared. 

He hugged Steve tighter. Steve pressed impossibly close. And then desperate lips found his. Hot and fast and dangerous. Both a promise and a reminder that they were alive. His mouth tasted like listerine and restlessness and sleep. He wondered if this was what it was like to kiss death. 

If they weren’t now impervious to minor bruises, Bucky knew there would be imprints of his fingertips in Steve’s shoulders. One of Steve’s hands wound in his hair; the other rested in the crook of his neck, fingers against his pulse. Bucky’s hands moved between Steve’s shoulder blades, that impressive swath of skin and muscle that before had just been bone. His right hand drifted lower, skimming the band of his boxers. Steve kissed him deeper. 

He still dreamed as the Soldier. Weak light filtered through grimy windows. _ Pintacked artwork littered the shabby walls. The Soldier blinked. Not lazily, not in confusion, but in intrigue. He’d stayed in places like this during missions out of necessity. Whoever lived here had chosen this place. Had tried to make the peeling paint and smell of mold feel like a home.  _

_ With the precision of a machine built for silence, the Soldier appeared in front of the walls. Yellow paper darkened with lead sketches stared at him. It was a boy. A boy with familiar eyes; not yet haunted by what they’d been forced to endure, but on their way—they’d seen life; they’d yet to see death. Maybe if the Soldier saw life, he’d have those eyes again. A starving smile graced the face in some. In others, a smirk. The Soldier stared.  _

_ A thought scratched at the back of his mind. He closed the door. It let itself in any way.  _

_ This boy hadn’t drawn himself. There was someone who cared for him. Loved him, even. Love, though unshown to the Soldier, was not an unknown concept. He’d thought he’d been capable once, before they’d ripped away the flower and handed him a gun.  _

_ He registered the smell before its meaning. Some people first thought it was fruit having finally gone rotten. It was only when they realized they had no fruit that they made the connection. That was when the fear set in.  _

_ He’d been death for so long that it feared him.  _

_ The boy wasn’t dead yet, but he was close. A rattling, wet caught—the kind the Solider knew only came from lungs drowning in blood—wracked through him. Cornsilk hair matted with sweat. The boy shivered violently.  _

_ Something inside him whimpered. Ste-. He closed the door and locked it.  _

_ The boy’s eyes, sea blue and fever bright, locked on to the Soldier. Weak happiness flickered across his wasted face. Blood-cracked lips flickered up. His mouth formed a word that was never given life.  _

_ It was only because of the silence that the pen falling exploded the room. Paper fell to the floor. It was in the Soldier’s hand before he knew he moved.  _

_ Something in him wept. Stev- He closed the door.  _

_ He stared at the drawing. It was an embrace, the boy on the wall holding the boy in the bed. Lips against lips. Body against body. A secret that would die unspoken.  _

_ The Soldier turned back to the boy. He was dead.  _

_ Something inside him howled. STEVE.  _

_ The Soldier turned away. Numbness sat in his chest. His mind sat quiet. Nothing hummed. Nothing itched. He was death. He came and went. He didn’t turn back. _

_ Something inside him wailed. STEVE. Something inside him clawed at the lock. STEVE. Something inside him turned around. STEVE. Something inside him looked back.  _

_ “Steve.” The Soldier tasted the name. It coated his tongue in summer days and laughter. It covered his skin in sticky sweat. It- he stuttered and turned back to the door.  _

_ It meant nothing. _

He woke to someone holding him tightly. They rocked back and forth. Darkness shrouded the room. For a terrible moment, someone wailed. A hand smoothed his hair away from his sticky skin. He wanted the noise to stop. He wanted to get away. The arms around him tightened. He couldn’t breathe. The wailing stopped. Between his ragged breathing, he registered whispered words. 

“You’re okay, you’re safe, we’re okay, we’re safe. It’s okay, Bucky, you’re safe, you’re safe, you’re safe.” They repeated over and over. “You’re okay, Bucky.” 

Bucky. He was Bucky. That meant the man holding him was- 

“Steve?” 

Lips pressed against his temple. His body still shivered with fear. His skin scrawled with shame he’d forgotten. Sunken, fever bright eyes watched him from the shadows. Numbness stalked at the edge of his mind; the Soldier, always watching. A rattling cough haunted his ears. A beating heart grounded him. 

“I’m here.” 

Bucky closed his eyes, focusing on the heart beneath his ear. “You’re alive?” 

“I’m alive.” 

Against all odds they were here. They were alive. They were alive. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Album: Unplugged, by Cloud Cult 
> 
> I think my life should finally be settling down now. God, I hope it is. So hopefully that means I'm going to have more time to write. 
> 
> As always, thank you for your patience. Lots of love to you!


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They're soulmates, your honor. Or, I continue to make myself feel things when I write.

The nightmares continued on for a week and a half. They were mostly the same: the Soldier in their old apartment, watching Steve die and feeling nothing. He didn’t know who he was—he’d never seen him that small before, why should he recognize him? Occasionally, the Soldier witnessed the boy from the drawing pick up Steve’s body and wail, pressing his lips to his over and over as if their touch would reverse death. The Soldier wished someone would love him even in death. 

Each night, Bucky woke up in Steve’s arms, cradled against his chest, whispered words of comfort in his ear. Each night, it took him minutes to remember who he was, where he was, and that the man holding him was the person the Soldier wished he had. He tried not sleeping, but the dreams clawed him down. They liked to hear him cry his penance. For too long, he’d stopped paying it. 

Bucky avoided eye contact with Steve, ashamed that the bags beneath his eyes were his fault. It’s not that he wanted to run. He knew he was just making it worse by running. It was the shame and embarrassment of thinking about telling Steve just how tightly the Soldier still gripped him that had him seeking solace in the garden. For the past month, he’d been letting Steve believe the Soldier was leaving. 

It wasn’t even that he didn’t want to tell Steve. He would plan to. He’d have the words ready, and then Steve would pass by the window and Bucky would see how tired he looked and the words would flee so fast they left a sour taste in his mouth. 

It was hypocritical, Bucky knew that. Well. If it were Steve in his position, Bucky would have forced him to sit on the couch and they wouldn’t have left until he’d spoken. And Steve had asked him to talk; even if it took him hours to find the words, Steve had asked him to talk. But how could he tell Steve that he woke up not remembering who he was? How could he tell Steve that he woke up scared, not because of his dream, but because the arms around him belonged to a stranger? How could he tell Steve that even when he remembered, it took him over an hour to finally calm down enough to let his fear go? It would break Steve’s heart. Bucky had already done that enough. 

He was doing it now. 

He ignored that Steve was hovering at the back door, watching him. Eva sat against his leg. Alpine perched on his shoulder. Bucky felt a pang of betrayal before the overarching guilt swallowed it. Of course she had gone to Steve; Bucky was rarely in the house anymore. 

Steve walked away from the door. Bucky hated how relieved he was. 

He rested his head against the trunk of the pine. A bead of sweat slipped between his shoulder blades. His shoulder burned where the skin and metal chaffed. Aapeli lay beside him, panting heavily in the heavy August heat. It was too hot for her, but the panic started the moment he was alone. Letting her in meant he went in. Inside meant Steve. 

Steve wouldn’t say anything. He wouldn’t push. He would wait, probably longer than he deserved, to avoid forcing him to talk before he was ready. He would try not to let it show on his face, but Steve had never been able to control the emotion in his eyes. 

They needed to talk. 

It felt like years since they’d last lived and laughed easily. Bucky missed it. He missed sitting on the couch in the crook of Steve’s arm, a movie on in the background. He missed catching Steve watching him (the smallest smile turning up the left corner of his lips, soft crinkles around his eyes) like he was still astounded that this was his life. He missed really talking to him. He missed feeling like he was healing. 

He missed Steve. It was as simple as that. 

There was only one thing he needed to do. So, naturally, he did everything but. 

-

“Coming in a day early seems to be becoming a common thread with you, Bucky.” 

He was in the bright, airy office of Dr. Scheinbaum. Aapeli lay on the couch, her head in his lap. He’d only told Steve he was going out. If Steve knew he was going to his session early, he would worry. Of course, Steve would worry anyway. Bucky sat with his face in his hands.

“I fucked up.” 

“I’m sure that’s true.” 

Bucky tilted his head to the left so he could look at her. She watched him with a perfectly neutral expression, one leg crossed over the other. “Aren’t you supposed to make me feel better?” 

She raised an eyebrow. “Are you going to ask for help?” 

He put his face back in his hands and mumbled, “isn’t that what I did when I called you?” 

“But you see, Bucky, I can only help you if you actually tell me what’s going on. As much as you might think it, I can’t read your mind.” 

Bucky nodded into his hands. They sat in silence again. Aapeli licked his elbow. 

“Steve asked me to marry him over a month ago.” Bucky didn’t know where else to start. It was a beginning. It was something he’d avoided. “I couldn’t say yes. Not yet.” 

“Why not?” 

“A week and a half ago, Steve told me he was dying. Before he took the serum, I mean. Lung cancer. He could’ve died and I wouldn’t have ever known.” He played with the velvet of Aapeli’s ears. It was the only thing that kept him tied to the office.

“I think about it a lot now. How we both would’ve died if Erskine hadn’t put his faith in Steve. I wouldn’t have made it out of Azzano without him. And sometimes, I wonder if it would’ve been better if I hadn’t made it out. I wouldn’t have been there to become the Soldier; he wouldn’t have killed all those people. But then I think, they would’ve found another poor soul to be their guinea pig. And they wouldn’t have had a Steve to pull them out.” 

If Dr. Schienbaum was trying to get his attention, it went unheard. All he could see was the ragged interior of their old Brooklyn apartment. All he could smell was the sickly scent of death. All he could feel was the Soldier’s callousness. 

“I try to pretend that the Soldier still doesn’t exist to the same degree. He doesn’t appear when I’m awake as much anymore, so it’s easy. But he still exists in my dreams. And they’re usually okay; he’s learning how to live a life not dictated by violence. They’re confusing and I wake up with this sense of longing, but I know that’s just because he doesn’t know what he wants. But then Steve tells me he was dying, and the Soldier hears that.”

He lifted his head from where he was staring at his lap. Dr. Scheinbaum watched him, her expression carefully neutral. He knew it well—it was the face of the Soldier. But unlike the Soldier, her face elicited calm rather than fear. 

Since he’d already started, it was easy to continue. He found that he’d really wanted to talk all along. 

“Ever since Steve told me that he was dying, that’s all my dreams have been. But it’s not me watching him die—it’s the Soldier. You’d expect that to be better because it isn’t me, but it’s so much worse. The Soldier doesn’t know Steve. The Soldier doesn’t care. The Soldier turns away. And that’s not even the worst part.” Shame curdled his stomach at the thought of saying this aloud. He forced himself to. “I’m scared of Steve when I wake up because I don’t know who he is.” 

Her eyebrows turned down. “And now you’re running.” 

Bucky nodded, miserable. “I don’t know how to tell that to Steve. I want him to think I’m getting better, but if he knows how long it takes after a nightmare to remember who we are... I just...we...he...” He scrubbed his face. 

“And is this why you couldn’t say yes?” 

“Yes. No. I don’t know.” Bucky sighed. Words jumbled in his head. He took a moment to gather them and put them in the order he thought was correct. 

“I’ve had this idea of wanting to be better for him when we finally take that step. And god do I want to. I want to be able to call Steve my husband so bad I can taste it, and I have my plan for how I want to ask him, and I already know he’s going to start crying before I even ask the question. Every day I’m acting on it, I’m taking steps forward, I’m letting things go, I think I’m progressing. And then the Soldier comes and has his way, and I get scared, and I end up here. A day early.” 

Dr. Schienbaum nodded. She licked her lips. “Riddle me this. Why can you run to me, but not to Steve? He’s your person. I’m just someone you see once a week.”

He hated that he had his answer ready. “Because talking to you holds no consequences. It’s still not easy saying all this, but you’re not the person I need to talk to, so I’m not afraid of your reactions.” 

“Why are you afraid of Steve’s reactions?” 

Bucky sat in silence. The words were there. The words had always been there. His brain laughed at finally being able to say them. “Because a part of me still believes that if Steve knows how broken I still am, he’ll decide he can’t wait. If he knows that I still forget who he is, I’m afraid he’ll think I don’t actually love him. If he knows that the Soldier is still there, I’m afraid he’ll think that the Soldier is all there is. And a part of me is wondering if he’d be right.” 

Bucky swallowed. Aapeli looked up at him. He breathed. 

“I know that I’m never going to be the man I was. I’ve told Steve that. He knows. I know he does. We’ve both made peace with the fact that we’re different. But if he knows that the Soldier is still there after I’ve tried to convince him he’s not, I’m afraid-” he trailed off, not knowing what he was saying anymore. He was talking himself in circles to avoid what he knew he needed to talk about. Steve had taught him. 

Dr. Scheinbaum crossed and uncrossed her legs, and leaned forward. “When are you going to let the Soldier go, Bucky? Why are you still holding onto him when all you want to do is move forward?” 

“Because ever since I came to the conclusion that I created him to protect myself, I feel like I owe him something. And if I can give him peace, doesn’t he deserve that after everything he was put through at my expense?” 

“But will you ever get peace knowing he still lives with you? He’s part of the past you’re healing from, and you can’t do that if you’re holding onto the biggest piece of your pain. You can’t heal with the fighting gloves on. At some point, you need to decide who you want to be. You need to choose Bucky or the Soldier. You can’t live simultaneously and expect the results you’re waiting for. You need to take the fighting gloves off. ” 

Bucky stayed quiet. Aapeli nudged his hands. The floor came back into focus. “I can’t-I don’t-who-I...” he didn’t know what he was saying, but he knew he needed to say something. 

“I think you’re scared of the person you are without him,” she continued as he blubbered. “With him, you have a built in excuse for everything that goes wrong and you know Steve will believe you. Without him, every choice you make is yours. When you run, that choice is yours. Today, you can blame the Soldier. But Bucky, the fear that made you run was yours. So, tell me—without using Steve or the Soldier as an excuse, what are you scared of?” 

_ What are you scared of? _

It had been over sixty years since there hadn’t been another consciousness scratching alongside his. The Soldier had been there from almost the beginning. Hydra hadn’t had him, but Bucky had. When the pain became too much for too long, endless cycles of white hot needles and the cold of isolation, he’d retreated into his mind and the Soldier had come forward. After sixty years, he wanted the peace of being alone, but-

He knew the answer. He’d always known the answer. He just didn’t want to say it because both of them would have the same answer. They’d say ‘that’s okay because we’re here to help you’; but that’s not what Bucky wanted. He wanted them to tell him exactly what he needed to do. 

He wanted to stand and leave. He wanted the lake. He wanted Steve. He wanted- 

He wanted. 

He remembered a night in the 30s, sitting out on the fire escape with Steve pressed against his shoulder. The night had been cool enough not to leave them sticky with sweat, and they’d been drinking. There had been nothing more freeing than watching Steve with alcohol in his veins. 

Steve had been talking about something—probably an artist he adored (or at least, didn’t ardently despise—but Bucky hadn’t heard anything he’d said. Steve had been so beautiful with the light from the apartment lighting him from behind, mouth open for something other than irish curses, eyes bright with something other than fever. When a piece of hair had fallen into Steve’s eyes, it had taken all his will to not push it back. When he’d wet his lips and smiled that wry, twisted smile that only Steve Rogers could, it had taken remembering that they would be killed to stop Bucky from pulling him close and kissing him. 

In that moment, the love he’d felt for the boy of bones and fire sitting beside him was uncontained. It had felt wild and raw and safe somehow, even though it was anything but. In that moment, he’d known why he’d been born. In that moment, he’d known exactly who he was meant to be. Now-

“I’m afraid that I don’t know how to be me,” he finally whispered. 

“Who do you want to be?” 

Bucky looked at the floor again, at the explosion of color. It always reminded him of space, of the vastness and openness and infinite opportunities that terrified and inspired him. And he thought of the nights at the lake, watching Steve stare up at the milky way, eyes wide in awe. He thought of the small, secret smiles he caught Steve giving when he thought he could get away with staring. He thought of the night Steve asked him to marry him and every night since, wrapped up in his arms. He remembered feeling completely and utterly safe. He remembered feeling free. He remembered feeling-

“I want to be happy.” 

“So, what’s your step one?” 

***

Steve looked out the back door, Eva against his leg, Alpine on his shoulder. Bucky sat against the pine with Aapeli, the way he’d done every day for the past week and a half. It was infuriating because Steve couldn't even say that Bucky was running; at least, not in the way he’d done before. They still talked. Bucky told him about his days at the garage and Steve talked about the animals at the shelter—there was a bulldog that had just come in that had stolen Steve’s heart—but it wasn’t the easy banter they usually had. It felt like the first months of living together again, where they’d have to step around the other. The last time Bucky had looked Steve in the eye was the night Steve told him he’d been dying. 

Bucky was avoiding his dreams, that much Steve knew. He just didn’t know what happened to have him this terrified. Though subsiding (for Steve at least), nightmares were still a weekly occurrence. Either one of them woke up either yelling, crying, or shaking (usually a combination). And then, in the morning they were fine. Or at least, they pretended they were fine. 

Steve wanted nothing more than to go out and force Bucky to talk to him. He wanted to know what had him so terrified he refused to look Steve in the eye. But he stayed in the house. He forced himself to walk away from the back door, forced himself down the hallway and into his studio, forced himself to take out the paints he wanted for his painting of the lake at night. Bucky was different from him. For so long, he hadn’t had the choice of when to come forward. Steve needed to let him decide when he was ready; he needed Bucky to know that he would always be there to listen. 

An hour had passed when Bucky knocked on his door. Steve looked up. Bucky’s hands were deep in his pockets. Aapeli leaned against his leg. 

“I’m going out.” His eyes flickered to Steve’s and away. 

Steve nodded. “Are you going to be home for dinner?” He didn’t have a bag with him, so he was assured he wasn’t going to the lake, but he also knew there were clothes at the cabin. It wouldn’t be hard to pick up food on the way. He forced his hands to stay still.

“I should be.” Eyes flickered up and away again. “I just need to go clear my head.” 

Steve nodded again. “I’ll see you later.” Because he would. 

Bucky nodded. 

When Steve thought to say ‘I love you’, Bucky was already gone. 

Steve spent the late hours of the afternoon trying and decidedly failing not to worry. He couldn’t paint. He couldn’t go for a walk because he wanted to be home when Bucky came back. He couldn’t do anything in the kitchen because he wanted there to be a home for Bucky to come back to. He tried calling Natasha, only to get her very short and rude voicemail. He tried calling Sam, only for him to answer three minutes before he was about to get on a plane for work. He called Dr. Scheinbaum, only for her receptionist to tell him she was in with another patient. 

His body itched for him to do something. The bags were downstairs, but it was dangerous for him to go alone. Unless Bucky was there with him, he would often go until his knuckles were bruised and bleeding even if they were wrapped. So, he did the only thing left to do. He laid on the floor in the exact center of the living room and stared at the ceiling. 

Since his first visit almost two years ago, Dr. Scheinbaum had been trying to get him to meditate. With regular practice, it was supposed to be good at calming anxiety, she’d said. So Steve took a deep breath and picked a spot on the ceiling. He focused on it until his vision slid out of focus. He tried to let go of each thought as quickly as it came. 

It didn’t take long for Daisy to realize he was laying on the floor. Rather than lay beside him like Eva was, she climbed on top of him, her head on his chest. Her tongue flicked out, catching the bottom of his chin. And just like that, his mind went quiet. Bucky had said he was going to come back, so he would. Steve trusted that he would talk when he was ready. He could lay here in the sun with his dogs and take advantage of the quiet house. So, one hand on either dog, he closed his eyes and just breathed. 

When he woke, it was because of something moving his hand. Fingers twining through his. Warm palm against warm palm. He kept his eyes closed on the off chance that this was a dream. He kept his breathing deep and steady. Soft metal slipped beneath the collar of his shirt and rested over his heart. Daisy had since moved off his chest. Eva still pressed against his side. 

There was a shaky breath. “I want to marry you,” Bucky whispered. “God, I want nothing more than to stand in front of our friends and promise myself to you. I want to take your hands in mine and tell you the vows I think I’ve been writing since the trenches. I never want you to doubt that I will always come back to you. But God help me if I’m not terrified. 

“I’m terrified because the Soldier is still there and he doesn’t care if you die in my dreams. I’m terrified because what if I can never let him go? You deserve someone whole and I want to give my entire self to you. But what happens if I wake up one morning and rather than it taking a couple minutes for me to remember who you are, you’re just gone? How could I do that to you?

“But god, I want to marry you. I want to call you my husband the way I do in my dreams when I dream as myself. I want to be a dad with you. I-” 

The palm left his chest and wrapped around the hand he already held. Steve willed his body to stay still and his breathing deep. He wasn’t supposed to hear any of this. He knew the only reason Bucky was able to say any of this was because he thought Steve was asleep. Lips brushed his knuckles before hair tickled them. An image of Bucky sitting with his knees drawn to his chest and his hands against his forehead came to mind. It was such a beautiful thought that it took his entire will to not open his eyes and see it for himself. He would sketch it later. 

“I’m going to move heaven and earth to give you that. One day, the Soldier isn’t going to be here, and on that day, I’m going to get down on one knee. I’m going to take your hands in mine and I’m going to ask if you, Steven Grant Rogers, will do me the honors of becoming my husband. And I hope to god that I’m not too late.” 

Bucky’s hands held his tighter. Steve felt tears pricking hot against his closed lids. He prayed they wouldn’t fall.

“I promise I’m fighting.  _ Geallair duit. _ ” 

I promise you. 

Bucky didn’t speak again. His left hand returned to its place over Steve’s heart. Steve had the sudden thought that lying on the floor asleep with Daisy on his chest to obscure his breathing, he’d probably looked dead. He wondered how long it had taken Bucky to sit beside him and check. 

When he couldn’t stand pretending to sleep anymore, he blinked himself awake. He didn’t have to fake the lazy smile that curled his lips when he saw Bucky beside him, eyes pressed closed. His lips moved in soundless words. His right hand had since been threaded in Aapeli’s fur. He didn’t move when Steve removed his hand from over his heart so he could sit up and wrap his arms around his back. 

“ _ Is breá liom tú _ ,” he murmured. I love you. 

Bucky turned slightly so he could press his hand back against Steve’s heart. For a moment, they just breathed. Bucky rested his head against Steve’s shoulder. 

“I went to see Dr. Scheinbaum,” Bucky finally said. “I needed to figure out how to talk to you, and I was scared.” He lifted his head and finally met Steve’s gaze. They flickered away. “I’m still scared.”

A piece of hair untucked itself from behind his ears. Steve pushed it back. Bucky leaned his cheek against Steve’s hand. 

“Nothing you say will ever change the fact that I love you.” 

“I’m scared that it will.” Bucky leaned forward, his head cradled in his hands. Steve pressed his head between his shoulder blades, ear against the band of scars that spanned the expanse. 

“So tell me and let me prove you wrong.” There was a shuddering breath. Steve wrapped his arms around him, holding tight. “Tell me and let me prove to you that I won’t ever leave.  _ Geallair duit.”  _

“I-the-he.” There was another breath. 

“ _ Geallair duit _ ,” Steve repeated softly, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. 

“The Soldier isn’t gone,” Bucky whispered. “I let you think he was because I wanted you to think I was getting better, but he isn’t. He lives in my dreams. Most mornings now, I wake up as him. He doesn’t know who you are, and he’s terrified of you.” 

“I would never hurt you.” 

“But he doesn’t know that.” 

“But you know that, and as much as it doesn’t seem like it in the moment, you’re in control.” 

“Am I?”

Steve slipped an arm under Bucky’s knees and pulled him onto his lap. The eyes that looked at him broke Steve’s heart. They were the same eyes that had looked at him in the helicarrier when Bucky had been trapped beneath the fallen beam; terrified, but accepting of whatever fate awaited him. 

“You created him, remember? He protected you when you had no other way to stay safe. He completed his true mission. You’re safe to live your own life.” 

“He wants to live his own life.” 

Steve breathed. “He already did. It was painful and cruel, but he lived. He saw the world.” 

_ Don’t let me lose you. I can’t lose you.  _

“He’s all I’ve known for so long. I don’t know how to let him go.” 

“Day by day, little by little. You let him go with kindness. You let him know you’re grateful for all he’s done for you.” 

There was an unwinding of tension. Steve held him closer. 

“I can put him in the garden, with the flowers. He always liked them. Or maybe that was me. I don’t know how to distinguish us anymore.” 

It felt like talking to a child. Steve closed his eyes and put his cheek against Bucky’s hair. It smelled like the wind and pine and home.  _ Don’t let me lose you to him _ .  _ I can’t love the Soldier. _

“I do,” he said. “You’re here. You’re fighting, and by god you’re winning. And one day, you’ll wake up and it’ll just be you.”  _ And I’ll say yes. As long as it’s you, I’ll say yes.  _

“I don’t know who I am without him,” Bucky whispered. The words were warm against Steve’s neck. “It’s been so long.” 

“I didn’t know who I was without Captain America, either,” Steve reminded him. “I’m still figuring it out. Truthfully, I don’t know if I’ll ever 100% know, and I have to be okay with that. I have my entire life to learn. And so do you.” 

“You’ll be here?” 

“ _ Gach lá. Gach oíche. Is é mo chroí leatsa. _ ” Every day. Every night. My heart is yours. 

“You still love me?” 

The words tore his heart at the way they were a question that needed answering.

“My heart has always belonged to you, Buck. Surely you know that.” He kissed the top of his head. “It’s really not fair to the rest of the world just how much I love you. When I’m with you, I understand the reason I was born.” 

“Why is that?” 

“To be right now, right here, with you. To make you laugh when you’re not able to smile. To hold your hand and keep you braced against the storms.” Steve pressed a kiss against his forehead. “The reason the universe wouldn’t let me die in the ice was because you were still alive.” 

“Did you know that new stars are always formed in pairs?” Bucky asked, still quiet. “Scientists don’t really know why it happens that way, but they go through their infancy with a companion. Sometimes they get forced apart by forces larger than them.” 

Steve wished Bucky would look up to see the smile on his face. This was the boy he’d given his heart to, all those years ago. He thanked whatever deities that might exist that the Soldier hadn’t stolen this. 

“When stars go through supernovae, their particles get thrown into space. They turn into elements. In turn, those elements make up the human body.” Bucky’s right palm found the skin over Steve’s heart again. Flesh against flesh. 

“I think you were the star that was born beside mine. The time before the war, that’s when we burned bright and hot, untameable and wild. The war pulled us apart and back together, broke us and glued us. The ice and the Soldier were our supernovae. Now, we’re stardust trying to remember how to be stars.” 

It took a while for Steve to find his voice. 

“You don’t need to pretend you’re someone you’re not with me, Buck. Just because he’s still a part of you today doesn’t mean you haven’t already started the work.” 

“I know. It just scares me sometimes.” 

“Is that why you wouldn’t look at me?” 

Warm metal brushed the tired skin beneath Steve’s eyes. “How could I when this is my fault?” 

“It’s not your fault.” 

“I wake you up.” 

“Do you think holding you when you’re frightened is a burden? Do you think knowing I’m strong enough to hold you up when you can’t is a hardship? Do you think if I wasn’t exactly where I wanted to be, do you think if I wasn’t unreasonably in love with you-” he wet his lips. 

“If we’re composed of stars and the force that separated us brought upon our supernovae and created us, then I want to believe that you are also composed of the star that created me, and I you. I want to believe that we’re pulled together, tied by a cosmic force because how else would we both have survived the shit we’ve been forced through? How else would we have found each other after everything? You complete me.” 

Bucky untucked his head from Steve’s neck. The tiniest smile twitched on his lips, the first Steve had seen since the nightmares had begun. “You talked science without sounding constipated.” 

“I did.”

“I’m sorry.” 

“I know. But Buck, when are you going to believe I’m never going to leave?” 

His eyes flickered away before meeting Steve’s again. “My heart knows, but by mind doesn’t.” 

Steve pressed his lips against his forehead again. “I’m here,” he whispered. “Always and forever.  _ Geallair duit.”  _

They stayed that way for a while, Steve cradling Bucky in his arms, Bucky’s hand pressing against his heart. Silent. Every so often, Steve would kiss his forehead again and repeat that he was exactly where he wanted to be. 

When Alpine joined them, meowing loudly and pressing her head between theirs to remind them that it was her dinner time and no one had ever fed her ever in her life, the moment was over. Bucky kissed Steve’s cheek before climbing out of his lap and disappearing into the laundry room, the three dogs skidding after him as well. Steve stretched (groaning as he did—his entire back was stiff from laying on the ground for however long he had) and stood. 

“Make dinner with me?” 

Bucky stood in the threshold between the kitchen and the living room, hands in his pockets and looking unsure. Steve immediately crossed the space between them. 

“It’s about damn time you asked again.” 

They entered the kitchen together, working side by side until the recipe called for Bucky to work at the stove. But like the stars they were composed of, they circled back to each other. Just as they had in the past. Just as they would do in the future. Until the end of time. 

***

Bucky’s mind was quiet for the first time in weeks when he sat on the couch that night. Steve crouched in front of the tv, setting up their movie for the night. The sight just felt so right, so solidly real and true, that he finally let go of the one clinging thread of fear that Steve would leave. And Steve was right: if they were composed of the same stars, even if Steve did leave, they would be pulled back together. 

Steve turned back and grinned when the title screen filled the tv. Soft guitar music engulfed the room as images of a man in black, a woman in red, and a trio of men flashed back and forth before the title revealed itself.  _ The Princess Bride. _

“I figured it’s about time we watched it,” Steve said, heading to the couch with the remote in hand. Bucky held up the obscenely large bowl of popcorn to allow him to sit in his spot. 

“I thought it was hilarious just how offended Natasha was by the fact that we hadn’t seen it. I was fully prepared to never watch it, see how long she’d let us go before forcibly sitting us down.” 

If it wasn’t Natasha, Bucky would’ve called what she’d thrown when she’d learned a tantrum. Since it was Natasha and it made it all the funnier, Bucky would still call it a tantrum. 

“And I thought Sam was upset,” Steve said. 

(“You’ve never seen  _ The Princess Bride?  _ Come on, guys! It’s a classic,” he’d said before huffing and sharing a dark look with Natasha.) 

“I don’t know if I’m quite ready to end my blissful ignorance of this movie,” Bucky told him. While he knew Natasha’s threat was legitimate, he was the only one she didn’t scare. Alpine walked across his face to settle herself on his shoulder. He moved her tail off his nose. 

Steve pointed the remote at the tv and pressed play. “Too bad. I want Sam off my ass.” 

Bucky looked at him. “He better not be sitting on your ass. I’m going to have violent words with him if he has.” 

Steve rolled his eyes, failing to hide the smile that had his lips twitching. God, had Bucky missed this. He linked his free hand through Steve’s fingers and closed his eyes until he heard coughing. Steve rested his head against his. 

He was able to keep his eyes on the screen until Buttercup had learned the true meaning of ‘as you wish.’ Steve continued looking forward, his face intense as the couple hugged tightly. 

(“I fear I’ll never see you again.”) 

_ They were in the medical tent Bucky’s last night before the war. Steve stood feet from him, looking angry and lost and full of fire. They fought the way they always did because fighting meant they cared desperately what the other thought. Fighting meant Bucky would stay the night, sitting out on the fire escape alone until Steve came to sit beside him, blistering until he’d burned out.  _

_ He told Steve not to do anything stupid. Steve told him it was impossible to do so. It was an exchange as old as their friendship. A last effort to make everything seem normal. He walked away. His heart burned. He walked back and pulled him into a hug, trying to memorize the way Steve felt in his arms. Bones and bruises. Trying to memorize the way he smelled. Smoke and charcoal and home. He didn’t kiss him. He walked away. His heart screamed.  _

(“Of course you will.”) 

_ Steve leaned over him, solid and real. Healthy. The straps around his arms and legs came undone. Rough hands, the same ones Bucky remembered wrapping in bandages, held his elbows as Bucky got to his feet. Steve pulled him into a hug. He no longer felt like bones and bruises, but he smelled the same. His heart quieted, but still ached.  _

(“But what if something happens to you?”) 

_ They were on the helicarrier. Steve below him, face bloodied and bruised by the Soldier’s hand. Around him, everything burned. Steve looked up at him, trust in his eyes. Bucky’s heart burst to life. Steve fell. Bucky followed. _

(“Hear this now: I will come for you.”) 

_ “Move in with me?” Steve asked.  _

_ They were sitting by a lake in Wakanda. The sun was setting. It was the first time in a while they’d been alone. He wanted to take Steve’s hand. After everything, shouldn’t he be allowed to hold the hand of the man he desperately loved?  _

_ “Sam and Natasha helped me find a house in Brooklyn. Three bedrooms, if you count the unfinished basement. You’d have your own room, but we could push the couch cushions together if you wanted.”  _

_ The hopeful look on Steve’s face made Bucky almost believe he deserved it. But then again, what had he done to deserve the peace and love of this country? For the first time, he pushed down the voice of the Soldier. _

_ “Okay.” _

(“But how can you be sure?”) 

_ Steve stood on the other side of the couch. Bucky stared at him, unsure if he was real. After all, he had been the one to get up and leave for two weeks. He had been the one to go to Ireland alone. And then Steve was walking forward. He was pulling Bucky close. He was kissing him.  _

_ Steve broke away, resting his forehead against Bucky’s. “I love you,” he said. “I’ve been an idiot, and I’m sorry.”  _

_ The anger that had encased Bucky’s heart for the past weeks fell apart. He felt Steve’s arms beneath his palms, solid and real. “I guess out talk doesn’t have to be that long after all. I love you, too.”  _

_ And how glorious it felt to say those words at last, to see Steve glow upon hearing them.  _

_ For the first time, his heart felt whole. His hand moved to Steve’s back. He kissed him again.  _

(“This is true love. You think this happens every day?”)

He looked at Steve, who still looked at the screen. His fingers tightened around Steve’s. Steve turned his head and his lips were centimeters away. They touched, soft and warm. Bucky’s heart settled. Steve kissed him again. Bucky rested his head on his chest. The world spun on, but the stars that created them stayed still, grounded by gentle fingers and beating hearts.

***

Steve traced his fingers along Bucky’s life line, watching as the Dread Pirate Roberts and Buttercup ran along the top of the ravine. She screamed at him, tears in her eyes, at how she’d died the day she learned the fate of her beloved. Bucky tightened his fingers. 

The pirate fell down the hill, head over heels. He called as he fell: as you wish. Buttercup threw herself after him. 

(“Can you move at all?”)

_Steve watched as Bucky turned and walked away, Connie and Dot on his arms as he took them to the promised dance. His lungs ached. He refused to cough. He wanted to scream after him, but Bucky didn’t look back. Something crucial in him broke. Maybe it was his heart. With how his body betrayed him, it was impossible to tell. _

(“Move? You're alive. If you want, I can fly.”)

_ “I’ve signed more of these condolence letters than I would care to count, but the name does sound familiar. I’m sorry.” _

_ He’d thought his heart broken before, but he’d been wrong. It flung itself out of his chest, cut out by the knife of the simple phrase of ‘I’m sorry’. But Steve was still alive. Bucky had sat at his bedside through nights of fever and wracking coughs. It had been his presence that kept him alive, the muttered prayers that Bucky denied he said. Steve believed that more than he believed anything. This time, Steve would be the avenging angel. And if he was too late, he would march to Death’s door. He’d done it before. Death knew him, but He wouldn’t know Bucky.  _

_ He turned away, his heart bleeding in the mud.  _

(“I told you: I would always come for you. Why didn’t you wait for me?”) 

_ Steve watched through the door of the train as Bucky steeled his face, erasing the fleeting moment of fear he’d allowed himself when he’d realized he was out of bullets. He opened the door and tossed him another. Side by side, the way it always had been, they moved forward. Bucky picked up the shield. Blue light filled the car.  _

_ For a second, the world stopped. For a second, Bucky flew like the angel he was, graceful and full of beauty with his eyes closed. And then time returned.  _

_ He hung from the wreckage. Fear painted his face. Steve reached out his hand the way he’d wanted to for so many years. Their fingers were centimeters apart.  _

_ Bucky fell. Steve screamed.  _

(“Well...you were dead.”) 

_ The Soldier seemed to flip in slow motion. It was strange, considering the rapid pace of their fight. He landed. He rolled. The mask came off. The Soldier stood. He turned.  _

_ Steve’s heart, broken and mangled, beat again.  _

_ “Bucky?”  _

_ Dead eyes stared back at him. “Who the hell is Bucky?”  _

(“Death cannot stop true love. All it can do is delay it for a little while.”) 

_ “You sure about this?”  _

_ Bucky sat on a table in one of the many medical bays around Shuri’s lab. He looked as tired as Steve felt. Man wasn’t designed to endure the way they had. Even so, he managed a smile. Steve tried one in return.  _

_ “I can’t trust my own mind,” Bucky told him. “So until they figure out how to get this stuff out of my head, I think going under is the best thing.”  _

_ Steve wanted to plead, to beg, to promise that as long as he was in Wakanda, he wouldn’t have to worry about anyone using the Soldier for their own means, but he didn’t. This was Bucky’s choice. If it protected him, why should it matter if it tore Steve apart? Instead, he watched as the man he loved stepped into the machine that would take him away again. He watched as ice formed along the glass.  _

_ He ignored the crying of his heart. _

(“I will never doubt again.”) 

_ Bucky stared at him, eyes torn between hope and doubt. “I didn’t know you were coming home.”  _

_ Steve’s mouth went dry. He’d forgotten just how beautiful Bucky was. “I wanted it to be a surprise.”  _

_ And then before he could overthink, before he could talk himself out of it, before anything could be said that would scare him off, he closed the space between them and kissed him. There was no hesitation as Bucky kissed him back.  _

_ Steve broke away, resting his forehead against Bucky’s. “I love you,” he said. “I’ve been an idiot, and I’m sorry.”  _

_ The unreadable expression turned to happiness. “I guess our talk doesn’t have to be that long after all. I love you, too.”  _

_ Steve had wanted to know the taste and feel of Bucky’s lips since he’d been sixteen. He’d wanted to tell him he loved him since he was seventeen. For the first time in perhaps his entire life, his heart felt whole and unmangled.  _

_ Bucky kissed him again.  _

(“There will never be a need”). 

Bucky laughed softly, the corners of his eyes crinkling. Steve lifted his hand and kissed his knuckles. Bucky turned his head. His eyes softened. Steve just looked at him, once again struck by the fact that this was his life. He was sitting on the couch with his best friend, the man he’d been told time and time again he’d been wrong to love. He was here with the love of his life, living the life he never expected would be his. He was here. 

Bucky stroked his cheek. Steve rested his head against the soft metal. 

“I love you,” Bucky whispered.

Steve didn’t even have the words he needed to convey what wanted to; he just tightened his hold on his hand. Bucky rested his head back against his chest. He knew. 

It was Steve who needed to carry Bucky to bed that night. After the movie ended, they’d just stayed on the couch. They didn’t talk, they didn’t kiss. They just existed. He didn’t know what time it was when Bucky had fallen asleep. 

Bucky’s head on his shoulder, breath soft against his neck, they made the journey from couch to standing, living room to bedroom, arms to bed. Steve couldn’t remember the last time he’d been the big spoon. There was just something about being cocooned by a soft body and warm arms that made him feel like a child. It made him feel small and protected and safe. He’d tried being the big spoon once and had felt so exposed he’d needed to ask Bucky if they could switch. But he wasn’t the one who needed to be protected tonight. He wrapped himself around Bucky, tucking his chin into the crook of his neck. 

Their love wasn’t a storybook story, not in the traditional way with princes and princesses, magic spells and evil sorcerers. It was painful and trying, tested through time and death. It was stained with blood and tears. It was glued in some places, sewn in others. Paint covered the chips other people had created. But it was theirs. And the fact that it still existed, even when everyone, even when the world, tried to tear it apart, was a remarkable thing. 

They had survived supernovae. They had survived ice and hatred. They had survived their own fear.

Steve hadn’t allowed himself to think about Bucky’s whispered confession since it had ended. But now, world quiet and Bucky in his arms, he allowed the words to return. He remembered how Bucky said the word husband like it was a prayer. 

_ Marry me _ , his mind whispered. 

“Let him go,” Steve whispered instead. “Let me be enough.” 

And maybe Bucky had never been asleep, or he’d woken enough just to hear him say it, because he responded with a quiet, “as you wish.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's September? Thanks, I hate it. Remember how I said I hoped my life was going to be quiet? That didn't happen. Eh. Oh well. 
> 
> Chapter album: The Horror and the Wild by the Amazing Devil  
(100% send me your album or song recommendations. 100% chance I will listen to them on repeat and get them stuck in my head and have the phrase 'Robot Vampires' pop into my head while I'm in the elevator at work, and I'll end up saying it out loud and have six two-year-olds talk about robot vampires for the rest of the day).
> 
> You can find me on tumblr @padfoot-and-the-marauders. Feel free to leave me any questions there! I will 100% answer as either Steve/Bucky if you have questions for them.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ah, the end of summer

Steve broke through the surface of the lake to find Bucky, elbow folded over a pink floaty, watching him with a small smile. Lines crinkled around his eyes. 

“What?” he asked, pushing his streaming hair out of his face. 

Bucky shrugged, cheek resting on the pink foam. “I just like seeing you happy.” 

It only took a few strokes to close the distance between them. Bucky replaced the floaty by wrapping his right arm around Steve’s neck and his legs around his waist. His heels rested on Steve’s butt. It wasn’t that he couldn’t swim one-armed, he just preferred not to. 

“It’s a lot easier to let things go here,” Steve said. “It’s just so quiet. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t let myself think about living here for months at a time.” 

“You’d get tired of the quiet,” Bucky told him. 

“I wouldn’t. Not anymore.” 

“You’d just be itching for something to happen.” 

His smile finally won and curled over his lips. “I wouldn’t! This is me saying that Steve Rogers is officially a fan of quiet. No more itchings for bruised knuckles in a fight twice my size.” 

Bucky stared at him, lips quirked. “Forgive me if I find that hard to believe, Steve. For some reason, I just can’t seem to put the two together.” 

“Shut up.” 

“Seriously! I need your help picturing it. If trouble comes sniffing, are you just going to say ‘sorry, Steve Rogers is officially part of club quiet, can you try again another day?’”

Steve maneuvered so Bucky’s legs were no longer around his waist, put both of his hands on the top of his head, and pushed him under the water. He came back up spluttering, hair a dark curtain over his face. Steve tread water, watching amused as Bucky muttered unintelligibly to himself and pushed it back. When it was somewhat back in place, he finally met Steve’s gaze. 

“You sure you wanted to do that, punk?” 

“I mean, I already did it, so yeah.” 

“Fuck you, Rogers.” 

“Correct. At least once a week if we’ve had a good one.” 

They stared at each other. Steve felt his lips twitch. Bucky closed his eyes and nodded slowly to himself. And then he snorted. Steve couldn’t contain his laughter after that and it burst out. So pure was his joy he felt like he could fly. 

“You’re an ass,” Bucky muttered. 

“I thought you liked my ass,” he said through a grin so wide his cheeks hurt. 

He allowed Bucky to wrap his arm around his neck again, which proved to be a bad decision as Bucky immediately pushed Steve under. When Steve came back up, he spit the water in his mouth at him. Bucky scooped a handful of water at him. Steve retaliated. 

They had no warning as the dogs took the commotion and laughter as their cue to join. Aapeli barked in joy and tried to eat the water she churned up with her paws. Eva circled around them and clambered back on the shore, shaking vigorously. She laid back on the dock beside Daisy, head between her paws, panting happily. 

Bucky wrapped himself back around Steve, resting his head against his shoulder. Steve ran one hand up and down his spine. Happy. Happy. Happy. 

“I wouldn’t mind coming up here for a long stretch,” Bucky murmured. “Take a month or two off work next summer and just relax.” 

“I’m imagining the winter,” Steve replied. “Sitting in the living room with blankets, fire crackling in the hearth, cups of cocoa in hand and watching the snow fall. A tree in the corner. Snowshoeing, skiing, maybe.” 

“You don’t know how to ski.” 

“No, but how hard can it be?” 

At that moment, the sun broke through the clouds it had hidden behind. The lake gleamed. A warm breeze rustled the trees. Bucky lifted his head and pressed his lips against Steve’s. Steve slipped one hand in Bucky’s hair and kissed him back. They ended up kissing for a ridiculously long time.

They walked back up to the cabin sometime later, sun warm on their shoulders, hand in hand. They showered together which resulted in Steve crafting a bubble beard for Bucky and Steve sporting a mohawk. Happiness followed them when they entered the living room, where open windows let in the end of summer breeze. Alpine lay curled half upside down on the armchair, soaking up the sun. The dogs looked up from where they lounged on the carpet. Eva wagged her tail. Steve scratched her head on the way to the couch. When he moved on, she shifted to her side with a heavy sigh, her eyes closing again. 

When Bucky passed Daisy with a book in hand, she rolled onto her back, head cocked and tongue lolling. With an exasperated sigh that was really hiding a laugh, he delayed his route and dropped to the floor, scratching her belly. Aapeli grumbled, her tail wagging. 

“You’re the one laying all the way over there,” Bucky told her. 

She grumbled louder, her tail thumping against the carpet. Steve smiled. In the sun, Bucky’s drying hair gleamed. 

“You need to come over here if you want my attention,” Bucky said, patting the ground beside him. 

Another grumble accompanied her getting up and flopping herself at his side. Bucky stroked her ears, book forgotten. Steve reached out and grabbed the sketchbook he’d left on the side table a day prior. It was quick work to block out the scene. He wished he had charcoal and then quickly decided he didn’t care. 

Bucky sighed when he finally reached the couch, curling his legs under him and leaning against Steve’s side. He tilted his head up for a kiss. Steve gladly bestowed it. Situating himself more securely, Bucky opened his book. Steve pressed a kiss to his hair and turned his attention back to his sketch, his pencil limp in his fingers. The lead lines slowly grew out of focus. 

Bucky turned a page. The pull of paper against fabric roused Steve from his trance. At one point, he’d stopped looking at the paper and started staring at the light between the branches. He couldn’t say how long he’d gone without blinking. He blinked, closed the pad and placed it back on the table. 

“Switch spots with me,” he murmured to Bucky. 

“Hmm?” Bucky dragged his gaze away from his book, blinking rapidly. Steve’s heart grew fond. 

“Switch spots with me.” 

So, with much grumbling on how he’d been comfortable and how moving would disrupt the atmosphere, they switched. Bucky stretched out his legs and wiggled until he’d situated himself in the corner of the couch. Steve curled up with his head in Bucky’s lap, the sun on his back. It didn’t take long for Bucky’s fingers to card through his hair. A warm breeze played over his face. Steve closed his eyes, content. Birds chirped outside, paper rustled as Bucky turned his page. 

When he woke, the living room was thick with dusky shadows. A pillow rested beneath his head. He blinked heavily to get his vision to stay in focus. The sky he could see was a deep purplish blue. The throw blanket that usually rested over the back of the couch was now draped over his shoulders. His mouth was foggy and his body was warm and heavy and it took all his concentration to keep his eyes open. He stared at a pine branch eclipsed in gold. It grew fuzzy and sharp as his vision slipped in and out of focus. 

Fragments of his dream still lived, more sensations than actual scenes. A yellow afternoon, crisp, thick with falling leaves. A hand warm in his. He could still feel the ring on his finger. His thumb rubbed against the inside of his ring finger where it had been. They’d had a daughter. She’d been between them, laughing as they swung her forward. 

The brushing of fingers over his cheek accompanied his next awakening. Warm lips pressed against his. A lamp had been lit. Bucky sat cross-legged on the ground in front of him, chin resting on the couch. His smile was the one in his eyes rather than his lips. His hand snuck under the blanket and their fingers touched. Warmth radiated through him. 

“Hey there, sleepy,” Bucky murmured. 

A lazy smile curled Steve’s lips. “Hey.” The word came out in the raspy sort of way that comes after hard sleep. 

Bucky’s eyes grew softer. He brushed hair from Steve’s forehead. “Dinner’s on the table, if you’re hungry.” 

It was a cruel thing to say because Steve hadn’t been hungry until Bucky had said something. Now, he was starving—the type of hunger that comes from a long day of honest work, which he supposed hiking and swimming was. The problem was his body had settled into the type of heaviness that made it feel like it didn’t exist, and it was quite delightful to lay in that state of unbeing. Not to mention, he currently resided in the state of comfortable that only happened when you were meant to get up. 

He made a noncommittal grunt and closed his fingers around Bucky’s. 

Bucky’s smile was on his lips now, lines deep around his eyes. “Come on, Stevie.” 

Steve made another noise that couldn’t be categorized as an answer. Or any sort of language for that matter. 

“I will carry you to the table. I’ve had plenty of practice.” 

A flash of memories from when they’d been kids found its way to the forefront. Steve, bedbound for days. Sarah wanting him at the table to get him upright and out of soiled sheets. Bucky slipping his arms under Steve’s knees and lifting him like he weighed nothing. 

His stomach growled and he groaned, burying his head into the pillow. 

“Stevie,” Bucky whispered, lips against the corner of his mouth. 

***

Steve turned his head enough to allow Bucky to kiss him. He slipped his left hand under Steve’s shoulder and slowly raised himself to his knees, and then to the couch. By the time Steve realized what was happening, he was sitting up. He pouted and tried to collapse to the other side. Bucky slipped an arm around his shoulder to keep him upright. Steve whined. 

Bucky pressed his lips together to smother his laughter. Sleep lines pressed themselves into Steve’s cheek. His hair was both pressed flat and disheveled. He still blinked owl-like to keep his eyes open. Bucky rubbed between his shoulder blades, his heart growing increasingly fond. 

It had been hard to step away from the couch when he had; Steve deeply asleep with his head in his lap, he himself deep in the pages of a novel he’d always wanted to read. He’d ignored time for as long as possible before the hunger set it. Bucky decided there should be a rule about bodily functions making themselves known when a moment was as perfect as that one had been. 

Making dinner with Steve asleep on the couch and cradled in the peaceful atmosphere had felt like such a normal thing he’d had to sit down and revel in the fact that this was his life. It wasn’t just a dream he clung to anymore. Of course, he’d had those realizations before, and he would probably have them until his end, but nothing changed the overwhelming contentment that came with each one. He’d really made it. He really was happy. 

Steve rested his head against Bucky’s shoulder. The hem of his white t-shirt curled up, exposing a sliver of his back. He yawned. When he finally got to his feet, he kept the blanket around his shoulders. His soft, grey sweatpants curled beneath his heels. 

“You better have made something worth getting up for,” he mumbled, keeping his head on Bucky’s shoulders. One of his hands was in Bucky’s, the other was wrapped around his bicep. 

“I could’ve made microwavable soup and put it in a bowl and have had you think I spent hours.” Bucky tried it once when he was pissed for some reason. He’d given himself a bowl of the handmade chicken noodle he’d made that afternoon and provided Steve with  _ Progresso.  _ Steve still didn’t know. 

“You would’ve just brought me soup if that’s what it was.” 

“Touche, but my point still stands.” 

They were in the dining room now, staring out at the darkening horizon and indigo lake. Because Bucky had been feeling fancy and in awe of his life and because he’d wanted to, he’d lit candles and turned on the fairy lights that hung across the ceiling. Two plates already sat at the table, glasses of wine poured and ready. 

“Fine,” Steve muttered. “You win.” 

Bucky just chuckled. 

And so, both of them dressed in sweatpants and worn t-shirts, Steve still disheveled and waking up, they enjoyed a fancy dinner of steak, late summer vegetables, and potatoes. Glasses clinked, conversation and laughter ensued, and life was good. 

-

“What if I said I didn’t want to leave?” Steve asked. 

It was their last night at the cabin. They sat on the porch swing, Bucky’s back against the armrest, Steve’s back against Bucky’s chest. Bucky’s left foot was on the porch, keeping them rocking gently. The sky was a deep indigo, but there was still too much light on the horizon for the stars to be clear. Fireflies dotted in and out of sight amidst the field of wildflowers. The dogs lay at their feet. Daisy’s front paw twitched as she dreamed. 

“We have to, Stevie.” 

“Do we?” 

“You have classes starting next week,” Bucky reminded him. “I have work at the garage. You know Jen is promising me something good.” 

Steve ran his thumb across the skin on the inside of his left ring finger. Bucky trapped his hands between his own. 

“What if we just decided not to go back? Canceled our obligations to anything and stayed here, grew old and grey and faded out of history?” 

It was an attractive thought, one Bucky had entertained for a long time when he was scared of himself. Now, it just seemed lonely. “Our life is back in Brooklyn, Steve.”

“I know,” he said quietly. “It’s just nice here.” 

“What’s this about, Steve?” There was too much tension in his shoulders for it to be nothing. His hands tried to escape. Bucky tightened his hold.

“Nothing.” 

“Are you scared to start school?” 

Steve didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Bucky had his answer. 

“You’re going to be great.” 

“They’re all going to think I only got in because I’m Captain America.” 

“And then they’re going to see Steve Rogers’ art and realize their mistake.” Steve nodded, his nose rubbing against Bucky’s neck. “You got in Stevie, fair and square. Just ignore anyone who tries to tell you otherwise.” 

“What if they don’t like Steve Rogers?” 

“Then they’re a fool,” Bucky murmured. “I’ve always liked Steve Rogers better. He might wear pleated khakis and god awful button-downs, but at least he never tried to pull off booty shorts over tights. God, I’m sad I missed that.” 

Steve nodded again. Bucky wrapped his arms around Steve’s chest, rubbing his thumbs across his arms. 

“We’ll always have this,” he said, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “But it’s a place to relax and not to hide.” 

It was the first time he’d made the distinction and the rightness of it settled over him. Their past would always be there and nothing could change that, but Bucky was done with letting it have a say over his present. Slowly but surely, he was letting everything go. 

The tension bled from Steve’s shoulders and he breathed deeply, fully relaxing into Bucky’s chest. He took Bucky’s left hand and traced his fingers over the grooves in his palm. It was still a wonder all these months later that it had just as much sensation as his real one. 

The porch lights switched on as the night grew darker, and moths swarmed them. Crickets chirped in an unending song. Wind rustled through the trees. Somewhere deep in the forest, a wolf howled and its pack answered. A month ago, Bucky would’ve constituted this as silence. Now he named it for what it actually was: peace. 

He didn’t know how much time had passed when he stood and walked into the clearing, Steve trailing behind him. He stood an arm length away, head tipped back to the sky. The moon was a thin crescent and the milky way stretched beside it. Bucky closed his eyes. The night wind played over his face. The grass was soft and cold under his bare feet. Wildflowers tickled his calves. 

The grass rustled and Bucky opened his eyes. Steve stood in front of him. He bowed and extended his hand. Bucky rolled his eyes and took it. A laugh erupted from him when Steve spun him. When he landed against his chest, Steve kissed him once, twice, three times. 

“Jerk,” Bucky whispered. 

“Asshole.” This close together, he could feel Steve’s smile before he saw it. 

Bucky kissed him again and they danced under the stars they used to be, fireflies glowing in their wake. 

***

The morning before classes started, Steve woke with a start. Based on how dark it was, he knew it still had to be the middle of the night. Bucky slept beside him, hair spilled over his pillow. Normally, just seeing that would be enough to settle whatever anxiety had forced him awake. He tried for it to be enough. He wrapped his arms around Bucky and pressed close and Bucky sighed and grabbed his hand in his sleep. 

Steve closed his eyes and tried desperately to fall back asleep. He tried to ignore everything; the thoughts running in circles around his brain, the random lyric of a song Bucky had listened to on repeat (something about someone eating an apple), the anxiety churning in his stomach. His toes curled as he tried to expel the energy he didn’t want. He found his eyes open and he squeezed them shut. His brain turned the volume up. 

His eyes were open again. He squeezed them shut and tried to focus on the steadiness of Bucky’s breath, the rise and fall of his chest, the feel of his heart beneath his hand. His brain reminded him that someone ate their goddamn apple. His eyes were open again. He closed them. When he exhaled, it shook. His brain reminded him that the world was going to be introduced to Steve Rogers and he cared much more what people thought about Steve Rogers than Captain America. His eyes were open again. 

Steve felt like he was going to explode. There was so much energy in his limbs that he knew something would happen if he stayed in bed. So he got up, changed into a pair of running pants, slipped a sweatshirt over his bare chest, and quietly let himself out of the room. In glowing green numbers, the clock on the stove told him it was 2 AM. Eva followed him to the front door. She nudged at her leash with her nose. 

“Not today, baby girl,” he whispered, sitting to put on his shoes. She rested her head on his knee and whined. He leaned over and pressed his forehead against hers, scratching her ears. The apple stopped being eaten. Exhaustion hit him. Steve grabbed her harness and hooked her up.

The night wind was blessedly cool on his overheating face. He walked down the driveway and jogged down the street lamp lit road. Nighttime anxiety was something he’d dealt with since waking up after the ice. It had gotten better since sharing a bed, but there was still a guaranteed week each month that it would take at least an hour for his mind to shut off. It had been over a year since it had woken him from a good dream. 

His feet pounded against the pavement. Eva panted. He turned into the park. 

The worst part about tonight was that he knew exactly what the solution was. The worst part was that he knew the moment he sat in his first class, everything would be fine. The worst part was that he knew until then, his body would remind him at every waking second that something new was coming. More people were going to meet the real Steve Rogers, unhidden behind the cowl and mantel of Captain. Steve didn’t care if people hated Captain America. He cared more than he liked to admit if people liked Steve Rogers. Captain America was a legend. Steve Rogers was a person. 

Someone ate their goddamn apple. Steve ran faster. 

He didn’t want to care what people thought of him. He wanted to go back to the way he’d been as a kid, when he’d known exactly what he was. What other people said hadn’t mattered because he’d proven them wrong.  _ You don’t want to go back. You cared back then, too, even if you thought you didn’t _ . He wanted to go back to simple.  _ It wasn’t simple. It’s simpler now.  _ He wanted to not be running at two in the morning because his mind wouldn’t shut up. 

There was an empty bench in the yellow glow of a streetlamp. Steve forced himself to sit. Eva positioned herself between his legs. He scratched her shoulders and just breathed. It was too warm for his breath to cloud in front of him, but it felt like a night where it should, clear and still. A good night for stars, if New York allowed for them. He missed the cabin. The quiet, the solitude. 

People made their assumptions about him every day when he passed them in the street. Maybe they recognized him, maybe they didn’t. It never mattered. The beautiful thing about New York was that people didn’t care about regular people. They didn’t care for the man behind the mask. They cared about the uniform and what it stood for. Steve Rogers was just a person. It was why it was so easy to live here. 

It was everything he’d ever wanted. So why was he so fucking terrified of people actually meeting him? 

_ Because you’re finally close to who you want to be _ .  _ All you’ve ever wanted was for people to like you for who you are _ . 

He got up and kept running. The goddamn apple was eaten again. And again. And again. 

He didn’t want to care what people thought of him. They didn’t matter, he knew they didn’t. But he finally knew who Steve Rogers was. There wasn’t a doubt anymore. He’d worked so hard to get to the point where he liked himself that it seemed worthless if other people didn’t like him either. 

The worst part about all of this was he knew everything would be fine once he sat in class. Life would play itself out the way it wanted to. People who wanted to be in his life would be in his life. Those who didn’t wouldn’t. 

It didn’t matter. He had what he wanted. He was happy with what he had. 

He wished his brain took any of that into consideration. 

They looped back into their neighborhood and walked up the driveway. The stove informed Steve it was three-thirty. He slipped off Eva’s harness and she looked up at him. Steve walked through the dark house, hesitating at the door of his studio before continuing to their room. He stood in the doorway, head against the frame. Bucky still slept. 

All at once, overwhelming anger at his anxiety ran through him. He should be in bed asleep, not standing in his doorway like a stranger, not worrying about things that shouldn’t matter, not filled with so much restless energy he almost longed for the days he could lose himself in a back alley fight. It was so much easier to put his anger into his fists and put them towards something that meant something. 

It was a bad idea, but there was nothing else he could think of doing. He needed to move. He needed something to keep his brain silent. He didn’t care about the apple. Instructing Eva to stay in the room, Steve walked down the stairs to the basement, wrapped his hands, and started punching. 

Sweaty and aching, Steve entered the garden. Bruises mottled his knuckles. The apple was still being eaten. His brain still reminded him without cease that he cared too much that no one would like him; that all his work was for nothing. It didn’t care that he tried to fight back. It was nearing five. He sat in the exact center, knees against his chest, chin against his knees. He closed his eyes and did everything he could not to crack. 

“How long have you been out here?” 

Bucky’s voice roused him before the light touch to his shoulder. His mind had quieted shortly after dawn, but he’d been too exhausted to pick himself up and return to bed; he’d been too terrified that as soon as he moved, it would pick right back up. So he’d stayed. At one point, he might have dreamed. 

Steve turned his head to see Bucky sit, cup of steaming coffee between his palms. He handed it to him and Steve took it, cradling it close to his chest. 

“I think just after 4:30,” Steve said. His voice betrayed just how tired he was. He sipped at his coffee. 

“How long have you been up?” 

And to that, Steve didn’t have an answer. He didn’t know how long he’d stayed in bed before running. (It was also a mark to how much time had passed and how much they’d been allowed to heal that not sleeping was abnormal and cause for concern). 

Bucky took one of his hands in his. Steve tried to pull it back, but Bucky didn’t let him. He pushed back the cuffs of his sleeves, revealing the bruised skin of his knuckles. 

“Steve.” His thumb brushed over them. Steve tried not to wince. 

“I’m fine.” 

“Are you?” Bucky’s other hand cupped his cheek and turned his head. Steve met his steadfast gaze, eyes fully grey in the pale morning light. He dropped his head. 

“I will be,” he said quietly. Because he would. Just not today. 

“That’s not the same.” 

“Do you think I would be out here if there was anything I could do about it?” Steve asked, taking his hand back. “It’s just a field day for my brain is all. Won’t shut up no matter what I do.” 

He sipped at his coffee more for something to do rather than actual want. 

“I’m not going to the garage today,” Bucky said. 

He looked up again. “Yes, you are.” 

“No. We’re going to sit on the couch and watch your favorite movies and maybe you’ll sleep, maybe not, but I’m not going to let you be alone.” 

“I was planning on going to the shelter. Even if there’s nothing I can do administratively, they always need walkers.” 

“Steve-” 

“I’m fine, Buck. Really. My brain has done worse.”

“You destroyed a bag, Steve. That doesn’t constitute as fine in my books.” 

Steve took another drink. The dregs stuck to his throat. “You know as much as I do that means nothing.” 

Bucky grabbed his hand again, forcing him to look at the bruises. They looked worse than they actually were. “It means you’re running, Steve. It means you don’t want to acknowledge the thing you’re running from, so you’re trying to beat it into submission.”

His body ached. “I’m not running. I’m just trying to ignore the voice telling me I shouldn’t go to class because nobody cares if Steve Rogers moves on with his life.” His eyes burned. “I’m fine, Buck. Just first day nerves that my shithole of a brain is taking out of proportion.”

“I’m still staying home,” Bucky said. “Jen can handle me being out for another day.” 

“You’re not, Buck. You’re going into work and fixing the bike you’ve been talking about non-stop since before the cabin.” His smile was tired, but he knew it was there. “I promise you, I’m okay.” 

Bucky stared at him for a long while before nodding. He pressed a kiss to his forehead, whiskers scratching against his skin. Steve’s brain went blessedly quiet. His body stopped buzzing. 

“Go shower,” Bucky murmured. “I’ll have breakfast ready when you’re out.”

“I love you.” More than he thought was possible. 

Bucky considered him with soft eyes and the smallest smile. “I love you, too.” He kissed him softly, and they went inside. 

Steve ended up walking to the shelter. For the most part, his brain had stayed quiet. As long as he kept himself busy, the nerves stayed down. Hence the walking. And the day was nice. A nice early fall, where the day was warm and the sun was bright and the air was crisp. It wouldn’t be long before the leaves started to change. While Steve loved the heat, he was ready for fall. 

There was a crowd of people on the lawn of the shelter, along with what looked like most (if not all) the dogs that they had. He walked past a family with two children. Their little boy was pleading with his father, a small puppy dangling from his arms. The father met Steve’s gaze and rolled his eyes before giving in. 

Steve continued through the throng until he reached a tent manned by a tired looking young woman. Her light brown hair was in braids today and she wore a pair of square framed glasses Steve hadn’t seen before. 

“Rogers,” she called. “I don’t care if you’re just here to browse, I need your help.” 

“Lauren,” he replied, slipping behind the table and sitting in the empty chair that just happened to be there. “Since when was there an adoption event today? It’s a Monday.” 

“It also happens to be Labor Day, which you’d know if you ever looked at a calendar.” She smirked to herself while Steve rolled his eyes. 

He did look at calendars now. Frequently, in fact. He’d just never celebrated a labor day his entire life. For some reason, national threats that required the Avengers had never seemed to take the holiday into consideration. Steve considered being insulted. 

Steve felt himself being watched. He busied himself with helping the family from earlier through their adoption paperwork. The boy still held the puppy, and they both looked content. It kept trying to lick his face. 

“You look like shit. Your vacation good?” she asked after they left. 

“It was,” he said, because it was. “Honestly, it was hard to come back.” 

She nodded sagely. “When are you and your man going to get married?” 

“I don’t know. Soon, I hope.” He rubbed at the inside of his left ring finger. “When he’s ready.” 

He replayed Bucky’s whispered confession almost nightly and took comfort in the knowledge that one day, they would be. Whether it be years or months from now, it would happen. 

“I hope I find someone that loves me the way you love your man,” she said wistfully. “I love my friends, but I want a wife. I guess a husband wouldn’t be bad either, long as he treats me right.” 

“Beautiful dame like yourself, you’ll find someone. The people who pass you by don’t know what they’re missing.” 

She ducked her head and smiled. “Thanks, Rogers.” 

The morning passed quickly in that fashion. Lauren gave him grief over not knowing how to separate eggs. Ten more dogs received families. He laughed and organized paperwork and his mind stayed quiet. 

When the event was over, only one dog remained on the lawn. Tulip, the english bulldog that had stolen his heart when she’d been brought in a few weeks prior. If Steve believed in destiny, which he guessed he did, he would believe the reason why she wasn’t adopted was because he was supposed to. While Lauren conversed with a few others who actually worked at the shelter, Steve went to sit beside her. Her head went on his knee. He wondered what Bucky would say if he brought her home. 

A half-hour later, he wondered what Bucky would say when he brought her home. 

***

“Before you say anything, it’s not my fault.” 

Once again, Bucky wasn’t even fully in the house when Steve yelled those words from the living room. He kept Aapeli’s harness and leash on and walked over, ready to meet whoever it was Steve had brought home. Steve sat on the floor, Eva and Daisy playing tug of war beside him, a bulldog gnawing on a bone between his legs. Alpine was nowhere to be seen. 

“Steven.” 

“It’s not my fault,” he said again, refusing to look at him. 

Bucky kept a hand on Aapeli’s harness while the two dogs sniffed at the other. When the bulldog went back to her bone, Bucky unhooked her. She immediately went to wrestle with Eva and Daisy. He kneeled in front of Steve. Steve kept his head down. 

“Steven, do you have anything to say to me?” 

“I love you and I hope you had a very good day at the garage. I happened to have a very good day at work myself. All of our dogs were adopted.” 

“And would you happen to be one of those adopters?” 

“I have no idea where you’d have gotten that idea.” 

“Are you saying this dog I’ve never seen before that happens to be sitting in my living room is a figment of my imagination?” 

“Yes?” 

“The last time I hallucinated something I thought was real was when Hydra was using me to test a new drug and nearly overdosed me. Am I still seeing things that aren’t real, or is the dog my dog interacted with one that you brought home without discussing with me?” 

Steve’s mouth twitched back and forth. “Maybe.” 

“Steven, it’s a yes or yes answer.” 

“It’s not my fault.” 

Bucky had to fight back a laugh. “I know. You’ve said this three times. So give me the story of how we’ve come to have four dogs when we really only have the space for two.” 

Steve looked up now. “We can keep her?” 

And now Bucky had to laugh. “What, you think I’m so heartless as to say we need to bring her back to a shelter that just had all their dogs adopted? I’m wounded, Rogers. Deeply.” 

Steve looked appropriately chastised. The bulldog huffed as she gnawed on her bone. The other three dogs continued to wrestle. Alpine stalked into the living room, hissed at the commotion, and jumped on Bucky’s shoulder. He scratched her head. 

“I’m still waiting for the story, Rogers.” God, was he in love with this man. 

“I told you about her the day she came in,” Steve finally said. “Her name is Tulip, and I’ve loved her since I first walked her.” 

“Good lord, does that mean I have to expect that every new animal you walk is going to end up here?” 

“The shelter held an adoption event today,” Steve continued on as if Bucky hadn’t interrupted him. Or, based on the contrite expression on his face, was choosing to ignore the pointed comment. “She was the only one who left when the event ended, and I couldn’t just leave her.” 

“That’s a touching good story, Rogers.” He meant it. If he’d been with Steve, he probably would’ve caved before Steve even asked. It wasn’t right to leave a singular occupant when everyone else had a loving home. “But no more, okay? We can’t house everyone.” 

“I know.” This time, he looked like he actually meant it. Whether he would follow through with that promise would be seen. 

Bucky finally listened to his protesting knees and sat against the couch. Alpine looked disgusted that she was made to touch Steve and changed shoulders. How she hated him unless Bucky wasn’t around. 

“How was the garage? You’re messy, so there must’ve been something good.”

Bucky looked down at the grease stains on his jeans. Half of them were old ones he hadn’t bothered to get out. “I spent most of the day worried about you,” he admitted. “But I finally got my hands on the WLA. Lord knows those come with memories.” 

Steve breathed a laugh. “How many times did you have to fix mine to keep the impression that Captain America knew what he was doing?” 

“Too goddamn many, Steve. And you never bothered to learn how to fix it yourself.” 

“Why learn when I could watch you do it?” 

Bucky wanted to be offended, but the smile those words extracted from him was anything but. “You’re an ass.” 

There was no hiding of Steve’s unabashed grin. “I’m amazed that none of the Howlies figured out how I felt with how much I watched your ass when you were fixing it. Have to say, it’s only gotten better over the years.” 

“You’re insufferable.” 

“You love me.” 

“I’m packing a bag. At this rate, Sam’s better company.” 

“You really want him to know that?” 

Bucky sighed. “You’re still an ass.” 

Steve put his head on Bucky’s shoulder and looked up at him through his eyelashes. His grin was still shit-eatingly large. “But you love me.” 

Bucky sighed again, one much larger and more indicative of his own personal choices than anything else. “Unfortunately.” 

“We’re keeping the dog, right?” 

“Yes, Rogers, we’re keeping the dog.” 

It was quite an adventure fitting two supersoldiers and four large dogs onto the queen size bed, particularly when each dog believed they had a claim to lay atop the supersoldiers. After much maneuvering, they finally managed a precarious balance. 

Steve lay on his side with his head on Bucky’s chest. His fingers traced and erased flowers over his abdomen. Tension held his shoulders. Bucky knew he wouldn’t even attempt to sleep. He brushed the hair from Steve’s forehead and stroked a finger down his nose. Steve fought to keep his eyes open. Bucky started to hum. Steve still fought. Bucky started to sing. 

_ “Idir ann is idir as. Idir thuaidh is idir theas. Idir thiar is idir thoir. Idir am is idir áit.”  _

He repeated Sarah’s lullaby until the tension melted from Steve’s shoulders and his eyes stayed closed. He repeated Sarah’s lullaby until Steve’s breathing deepened and slowed into sleep. He repeated Sarah’s lullaby until he’d nearly sung himself to sleep. He repeated Sarah’s lullaby until he missed the nights when they’d both been small and Sarah had been the one singing them to sleep. And then he closed his eyes, held his life close, and drifted into dreams of singing it to their daughter.

*** 

Steve stood in front of the open door to the classroom, backpack hanging from one shoulder. Ten people already sat in the room. Some looked like they knew each other and chatted. Others sat and looked at their phone. He looked down at his sweatshirt. The left shoulder was worn thin, but it smelled like Bucky. He wouldn’t be made to wish he’d worn something else. Swallowing his nerves, he walked in and took a seat. It didn’t take long for someone to drop into the seat beside him; a short, pink-haired woman wearing an overly large Hawaiin shirt. She was talking animatedly on the phone about a volleyball anime she wanted the person on the receiving end to watch. Steve immediately felt at ease. 

A few minutes later, someone Steve could only describe as a witch (in the best way possible) walked into the room. Her short, spiky hair was a deep midnight blue. Large round glasses sat on her nose. Her flowy shirt and loud floor-length skirt clashed in a way that somehow worked. Colorful beads that matched her shirt hung around her neck. The biggest canvas bag Steve had ever seen in her life hung from her shoulder. 

She said exactly four things before she started class. First, her name was Emma and she would only respond to that. Second, she was turning fifty-seven next Tuesday and her favorite type of cupcake was red velvet, but only if they had red frosting; she called them bloodcakes to annoy her husband. Third,  Salvador Dalí’s  _ The Persistence of Time _ was the worst painting she’d ever seen in her life and no, they wouldn’t be discussing it. And finally, her band  _ Cats Laughing _ was having a reunion concert coming up should any of them want to attend. 

Steve held the deepest respect for her before she launched into the coolest and most informative lecture he’d ever listened to. The pink-haired woman beside him looked like all her dreams had instantly come true. Perhaps learning how to articulate the visual arts wouldn’t be so bad after all. 

When he returned home that evening, he was buzzing. Only pausing long enough to drop his bag and hastily greet the four very excited dogs, he strode to the kitchen. Bucky stood at the counter, chopping a squash. He looked up when Steve entered. Steve only waited long enough for him to set down his knife before kissing him with enough enthusiasm to pick him off the ground. 

“I take it you had a good first day then?” Bucky asked, chuckling when his feet were back on the floor. 

“What would give you that impression?” Steve asked, unable to keep the smile from his face. He’d forgotten just how much he loved talking about art with other artists. Once class ended, he’d spent so long speaking to Emma that he’d almost been late for contemporary practice. 

“Can’t be the fact that you look like a damn fool with that grin, or the fact that you’re practically vibrating. Definitely not.” 

Steve spun around, hands in his hair. Bucky watched him with a fond and amused expression on his face. “My professors are just so cool! Also, I learned that I hate looking at contemporary art, but it’s weirdly satisfying to make. Also also, I have to write a three-page essay analyzing a piece of art of my choosing and I’ve realized I’ve never actually written an essay in my life.” 

“Oh, the woes of kids these days,” Bucky said with a wicked grin. “I’ll just sit here with my aching bones and four dogs and cat and run people off my lawn while brandishing my cane.” 

“There’s a walker in the front closet if you need it.” 

“Nah, I’ll just make you carry me everywhere.” He furrowed his brow. “On second thought, I’ll just make Sam fly me everywhere.” 

“He’ll just drop you in the harbor.” 

Bucky considered for another moment. “I’ll just make you carry me everywhere.” 

“I’ll only drop you when you’re being an ass,” Steve said. 

“Thanks, dearest.” 

“Of course, hun.”

Bucky went back to cutting squash. Steve grabbed his bag and set up shop on the counter, resigned to figuring out how to write an essay. Life was good. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Steve has in his head (and also might be the song of the chapter) is Anyway by Kerrigan + Lowdermilk.
> 
> The lullaby Bucky sings is from the Irish animated movie Song of the Sea. It is lovely and beautiful and you should listen to it. 
> 
> Emma is a real person and just so happens to be one of the coolest and best writing professors I've ever had in my life. Cats Laughing is a phenomenal band. It also happens to be canonical in the comics. I know she reads fic, so if you're reading this Emma, I love you. 
> 
> Also, your author appears in this chapter! In the flesh. It's weird to write about yourself in the third person, but I sass Steve while writing, so might as well sass him in the writing as well. 
> 
> Notable chapter fuckups include this beauty: your'e hungre
> 
> Follow me on tumblr @ padfoot-and-the-marauders! Ask me questions! Leave me comments! Tell me you love me! Or not, it's cool. 
> 
> Lots of love


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life is happy and midterms are a bitch 
> 
> The song of this chapter is: I Love You, by Rachel Zegler (I would suggest listening to it before reading because it's just so soft and beautiful)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> honestly, when I talk about Bucky’s garage space, just think about the scenes in New Moon where Jacob and Bella are fixing bikes. It’s definitely not what I had in mind. Not at all

“Hey, Hubbard! There’s an attractive man outside that says he knows you.” Jen poked her head in his workspace. “If you don’t claim him, I will.” 

Bucky didn’t look up from where he was tightening a bolt. “Was he carrying lunch?” 

“Looked like it.” 

“I’ll keep him.” 

“Damn,” she said and sighed. “I’ll let the attractive man know.” 

“He has a name, you know,” he called as she walked away. 

“I know! But do I look like I care?” 

Bucky grinned and continued checking the section he was working on, ensuring everything was properly tightened. When he was happy that nothing would fall apart the moment he stepped away, he wiped his hands on a raggedy towel and stood. The general sounds of the garage greeted him when he entered the main workspace and he hummed in pleasure. 

Steve stood just inside the main bay, talking with Jen. He was wearing Bucky’s favorite red henley, his backpack hanging from one shoulder, and he carried a takeout bag from their favorite deli. There was yellow paint on his forehead. When he spotted Bucky, his smile widened. 

“I brought lunch!” he said unnecessarily, holding the bag a bit higher. 

Bucky pecked a chaste kiss to his lips. “I knew there was a reason I stayed with you.” 

Jen smiled to herself and started walking away. “No sex in the back bay,” she called. “Have a good break.” 

Bucky flipped her the bird and she blew him a kiss. Rolling his eyes, he gestured with his head and they started walking back. Joe looked up from where he worked on a blue ‘66 mustang convertible. It was in the shop so frequently that they’d taken to calling it The ‘Stang. He gave Steve a long look and waggled his eyebrows at Bucky. Bucky shot him the bird as well and grinning, Joe went back to work. 

The garage was composed of three different sections. The main bay, where they did most of their work—tune ups, oil changes. There was the storage bay, where most of their scrap metal went and where Bucky had spent a glorious week organizing. And finally, there was the back bay, where Bucky worked. It was technically connected to the main bay, but when he pulled the door closed, it gave the impression that he was working in the garage at home. It was a very comfortable set up that allowed him to do a lot of contract work, which really meant he spent his days rebuilding bikes from the ground up. 

He pulled the door mostly closed, cutting off the noise from the main bay. Steve dropped his bag and took a few steps forward, head tipped back to look at the soaring ceilings, whistling. Bucky took the food from him, set it on an open shelf, and pulled Steve against his chest, finally kissing him the way he wanted to. (He wondered how many bets he would settle were anyone to walk in at this moment. He didn’t care; how nice it would be to finally be the man people thought he was). 

“Hi,” Steve whispered, their foreheads pressed together. 

“Hi,” Bucky whispered back, feeling Steve smile in return. It was ridiculous how happy this man made him. “I’ve missed you.” 

With the workload school had presented Steve that week, his time at home had been severely cut. Bucky hated it. They kissed for a while longer. It was with a groan that Steve stepped back. Bucky secured one more and reluctantly let him go. While he might enjoy making out in a garage like a teenager, time constraints and being an actual working adult had other plans for them. That didn’t mean he had to be happy about it, though. He grabbed the food from where he’d haphazardly set it and followed Steve further into the garage. 

Aapeli looked up from where she lay in the corner. When she saw Steve, she got up from her bed and trotted over, tail wagging her entire body. Steve crouched down to greet her. 

“How long do you have?” Bucky asked, washing his hands. The food had once again been set down, this time on a clean section of his work table. 

Steve still knelt, attempting to escape Aapeli’s tongue and failing miserably; she was doing her best to climb into his lap. He finally pushed himself off the ground. She continued jumping up, not satisfied with her greeting. Steve washed his hands as well. 

“If I want to be in Studio on time, I should leave in an hour or so.”

“Lunch and then a walk?” 

“Sounds perfect.” 

Bucky pulled the sandwiches, chips, and drinks from the bag while Steve admired the WLA he was working on. It was the third one Bucky had repaired since Steve had started school. Shortly after his first, a small museum reached out to the garage and Jen had directed them to him. They had a handful they wanted to showcase in a future exhibit, all of them in bad condition. Bucky had gladly agreed to restore them. It was nice to remember the good parts of the war, for a change. 

“You weren’t kidding about the memories that come with seeing this,” Steve said, running his hands over the handlebars. “I’m a little embarrassed about how many times I made you fix mine.” 

Bucky went to stand beside him, slipping an arm around his waist; Steve slid his hand into Bucky’s back pocket. Bucky savored the moment. “Well, you gave me the qualifications needed to have this job in the first place.” He was sure he could’ve scraped by, but god lord had Steve given him practice. 

“Then I’m glad I could be of assistance. 

“Can we stop reminiscing about war and eat?” Bucky asked a few minutes later. “I’m hungry.” 

“Yeah.” Without giving Bucky time to think, Steve pressed an energetic kiss to his cheek and danced away to sit against the open door frame. Bucky rolled his eyes and grabbed the food. 

“I really could’ve just come around back to find you, could’t I have?” Steve asked when Bucky sat next to him. The sun dappled their legs and warmed the late October air. Aapeli lay on her side beside him, her head draped over his knee. 

“You could’ve, but then you wouldn’t’ve gotten the grand introduction.” He was still undecided if that would’ve been preferable. He handed Steve his sandwich. “How’s Emma?” 

He’d met Steve’s favorite professor exactly once when Steve had dragged him to her band’s reunion concert. Bucky had grudgingly admitted to being a fan. Not that he would admit to anyone that he’d listened to their music on repeat for two weeks after. He didn’t know if it would ruin his reputation or just cement it. Not that he knew what his reputation was anymore anyway. It’s not like he actively announced that he was the former Winter Soldier, but he didn’t really try to hide it, either.

(Joe had done a survey one day after he’d left and the garage had collectively decided that Bucky was a sweater-wearing grandfather who only cared about his husband and wouldn’t hesitate to kill anyone who put him in danger—unless it was warranted. Then he’d wait a few hours to show his husband that he was annoyed with him and then kill the people who put him in danger. If Bucky knew any of this, the only thing he’d correct was that he cared about his animals before he cared about his husband (because Steve _ would _ be his husband. He just didn’t know when)). 

“Emma’s crazy,” Steve started, “but I wouldn’t have it any other way. Today she started class with an anecdote about types of fictional stories and went on about how it’s always guy meets girl, but why can’t it be guy meets girl and can’t help but notice that her brother is cuter and brother actually pays attention to the guy. And then fifteen minutes later she’s deep into discussing the five philosophies of art and I simultaneously have no idea what’s happening but I also feel like she’s teaching me the secrets of the universe.” 

“So it’s a good thing that you didn’t meet her when you were four feet of pure rage,” Bucky said. 

“Oh, if I’d met her back then, I wouldn’t have needed the serum. I would’ve simply ascended.” Steve took another bite of his sandwich. 

“So it’s a good thing you didn’t meet her when you were four feet of pure rage,” Bucky repeated. He’d missed this banter. 

Steve respected the fact that he had an obscene amount of food in his mouth and just shrugged. Bucky rolled his eyes and started on his own sandwich. 

There was a singular sycamore tree in the yard outside of Bucky’s garage. It looked like an Irish monk. Irish because each of its leaves was a flaming orange. A monk because the only leaves that had fallen were from the top, leaving the distinct impression of a singular bald spot. Bucky had named it Gregory. A light breeze blew through the branches, pulling more leaves from the top and scattering the ones already fallen across the worn dirt. A squirrel darted across the lawn. Aapeli jumped up and chased after it. When it scurried up the tree, she chased the leaves instead. 

For a while they just talked, Steve explaining all the projects he was juggling for midterm that had kept him away. A ten-page paper for Emma (finished last night); an in-depth review and analysis of one of the exhibits he’d been required to visit (Bucky had gladly tagged along for that)(finished last night); the final version of the piece he’d been drafting for Contemporary (almost complete); and a three-painting study of Jackson Pollock for Studio, of which he would rather face another round of aliens than finish. 

Steve leaned deeper against Bucky, one hand on his thigh, the other wrapped around his bicep. Aapeli trotted back to the garage and lay down, half inside. She growled when the squirrel started back towards the ground. Bucky quieted her. 

“You have a good thing here,” Steve murmured, eyes closed. Whatever energy he’d had twenty minutes ago was gone. “I can’t believe it’s taken me this long to visit for lunch. Much better than sitting around campus and being stared at by undergrads who don’t have the courage to come ask me if I’m actually Captain America. I guess I even don’t know what I would say should they ask.” His words had started slurring together. 

“We can forego the walk, if you want to rest,” Bucky said. He’d been asleep by the time Steve had gone to bed for the past few nights. Last night Bucky remembered waking up at three to find the space next to him still empty. 

“That’d be good.” His breath was already deepening. 

The hand on Bucky’s thigh moved until it had clasped his hand. There was paint in his nail beds to match the paint on his forehead. Bucky pressed a fond kiss to his temple, rolling his eyes when he saw the paint had also gotten into his hair and realizing he had no idea how long it had been there. Possibly a few days with how little Bucky had seen him this week (and considering the way Steve smelled, he hadn’t showered in a while). The thought of Steve walking around with paint on his face for days had him smiling. He would think there wasn’t anything that could make him love Steve more than he already did, and everyday Steve would do something to prove that wrong. 

God, Bucky had missed this version of Steve that had arrived after starting school. The true version, the one he’d only allowed out when they were alone in their apartment. This version of Steve was light and happy. He laughed and smiled easily. He allowed himself to make mistakes. He embraced his imperfections. And god, was Bucky proud of him. Of them. 

They’d had six weeks of absolute bliss. No nightmares. No migraines (it was the first time in a month that Bucky had gone without one). No Soldier (he was still there, Bucky could still feel him, but he was quiet). For six weeks, Bucky came home from the garage to make dinner. Sometimes Steve was already there, sometimes he came when dinner was ready to be plated. They ate and talked about their days, they did the dishes and sprayed each other with water and bubbles. They walked the dogs and then Steve sat himself at the table and did his homework and Bucky tidied or wrote in his journal or read. 

Their life finally felt real. They weren’t just existing in limbo anymore, waiting for something to push them into the next chapter. They were living, perhaps for the first time. There was nothing that could make Bucky give this up. 

Thirty minutes passed slowly in that manner: the breeze through the leaves, the sunlight warming them, Aapeli picking up her head every so often to growl at the squirrels, Steve occasionally resituating himself. And for the most part, Bucky’s mind stayed quiet. He deserved this moment, so he allowed himself to have it. But eventually, as all moments do, it had to end to make way for the ones to come.

“Steve,” he whispered, rubbing his free hand down his arm. “It’s time to get up.” 

Steve groaned, pressing his face deeper into Bucky’s shoulder. “Five more minutes.” 

And while Bucky wanted to give them to him, he couldn’t. “Come on, up you get.” 

Steve opened his eyes, blinking blearily and frowning. He looked thoroughly insulted at being awake again. “What time is it?” he asked through a wide yawn. He scrubbed a hand over his face.

“Just after fifty. Figured you’d enjoy some awake time before needing to go back.” 

“Not in particular. During my nap I decided I would rather just stay here for the rest of the afternoon.” 

“You want to skip class?” It wasn’t the first time Bucky had heard the sentiment come from Steve’s mouth and it made him want to laugh every time. This was the Steve Rogers he wished the media would portray; not the straight-laced, truth telling version they were so fond of. Bucky poked him again to keep his eyes open. He glared at Bucky. 

“It’s just Studio, and it’s a free block to work on projects.” 

“Which you should take advantage of so you don’t have to stress this weekend.” 

“My brain is so tired. I don’t think I could work on my pieces even if I wanted to. And they aren’t due until the fourteenth.”

“Steve, that’s today.”

Steve sat up. “So it is. Fuck.” He sighed and ran both hands through his hair so it stuck up. “This is fine. I only have the finishing details for Contemporary left and one piece left for Studio. It’s fine.”

Bucky pushed himself to his feet and held out his hand to help Steve up. They walked back through the main garage hand in hand. Bucky didn’t care about the grins and winks others gave as they walked passed. In fact, he loved them. They meant he was accepted among the crew. They meant he could be himself. 

He pulled Steve to a stop before exiting the garage, leaving them in full sight of everyone working. Steve looked at him with a glint in his eye and Bucky brushed a finger over the splash of yellow on his forehead, rolling his eyes. Steve raised a hand to the spot, eyebrows furrowing. 

“How long have you let me go around like this?” he asked. 

“Oh, Steve,” was all Bucky said before kissing him soundly (the way everybody expected Bucky to kiss him. There were a few coins passed under the table at this time). 

“You’re making me not want to go to class again,” Steve murmured against his lips, so Bucky reluctantly drew back. 

He instead put the other strap of Steve’s backpack over his shoulder (Steve was fond of only wearing it off one) and buckled it across his chest. It had become a habit in Bucharest. “Go get your paintings done,” he said. 

“I will if you let me go,” Steve replied. 

Bucky let his hands fall back to his side. “Go make art. I’ll see you when you get home.” 

So Steve walked back to his bike, looking back as he slung his leg over and kicked the engine into life. Bucky stayed there, watching until long after Steve had disappeared. When he turned around and started walking back towards his workspace, he knew he had the softest smile on his face but he couldn’t care less. This was his life, and he was happy. 

It was almost 6pm. The last of the weak October sun filtered in through the kitchen windows, landing on the granite countertops. Bucky had just placed an order for takeout and was in the process of putting dishes away when Steve finally walked into the house. His bag was dropped in the middle of the entry hall. His shoes left a trail as he kicked them off and shuffled into the kitchen, pressing his face into Bucky’s shoulder, his arms snaking around Bucky’s waist. 

“If I ever have to paint an abstract piece again, it’ll be too soon. It’s a bane to the artistic world and I fucking hate it,” came his muffled voice. “No offense to Jackson Pollock, but fuck him and his art.” 

“You’re the one who wanted to go to school for this, Stevie,” Bucky reminded him. 

“No. I’m the one who dropped my application in the trash. You’re the one who sent it in and did some bullshit that probably should’ve gotten it disqualified.” 

“Fair enough.” 

“Can we go lay down?” Steve asked. “I just want to cuddle for a while.” 

“No,” Bucky said, turning so he could face Steve. The paint was still on his forehead. There was also a smudge of orange on his cheek, and blue on his ear. “You’re going to shower and eat dinner before you fall asleep.” 

“But-” And the face he gave Bucky almost made him cave, all pouty lips and exhausted eyes. 

“No buts. Go.” 

He gently shoved Steve in the direction of their room. Steve shuffled off. Bucky made the decision to follow, which proved to be the right one because he reached the doorway the moment Steve collapsed face first onto their bed. Bucky pried him back up and held him in a standing position. 

“Just five minutes.” 

“No. Strip.” 

Steve frowned. “So grumpy,” he mumbled. 

Bucky sighed. “Just take your damn clothes off, Steve.” 

“If that’s all you wanted, you could’ve led with that-” Steve started, but upon seeing the look upon Bucky’s face, stopped talking and took off his sweatshirt. His forearms were splattered with purple, black, and green. He stopped when he was standing in nothing but his boxers, his clothes laying in a heap on the floor. Bucky grabbed his shoulders and steered him into the bathroom, where he then proceeded to turn on the shower. 

“Take off your pants and get in, Steve. You stink and you’re covered in paint.” 

Steve sluggishly raised an arm to his nose and took a sniff. “I see your point.” 

Bucky patted his shoulder and left the bathroom. He returned to the kitchen to finish unloading the dishwasher, after which he opened some windows in the living room and tidied the space. The room was satisfactorily chilled and clean when Steve shuffled into the living room. His hair was still wet and he bundled in old sweatpants and Bucky’s Nasa sweatshirt. 

“Feel better?” Bucky asked. 

“Yes,” Steve replied with a tone that indicated he wasn’t happy about it. “Can we cuddle now?” 

“No.” 

“Why not?” It was all but a whine. 

There was a knock on the door. Tulip and Daisy scurried forward, barking. Bucky answered the door, took the bag of food from the delivery woman with a thank you, and turned back to Steve. 

“Because you need to eat.”

Steve stared down at his stomach and then looked back up at Bucky, saying “I’m not hungry” at the moment it growled. 

Bucky raised his eyebrow. Steve muttered mutinously, snatched the bag from Bucky, and sat at the counter. His face only grew more scrunched when he realized what Bucky had ordered for them. He wanted to be cranky because he was tired, but was failing because Bucky knew him too well. Bucky knew exactly how to take care of him when he couldn’t be bothered to do it himself. 

“Fine,” Steve muttered. “I’ll eat my dinner. Then can we cuddle and maybe watch a movie that I’ll fall asleep halfway through?” 

Bucky dropped a kiss to his hair and sat next to him, drawing his own food in front of him. “Yeah, then we can do that.” 

Steve was asleep before Alan-a-Dale even had a chance to introduce himself. Bucky had planned for this likelihood. With as little movement as possible, he turned the tv off, situated the blanket more securely around Steve’s shoulders, and grabbed his book, more than content to end the night like this. Alpine curled herself on his feet. Daisy looked hopefully at the couch, her foreleg on the edge of the cushion. Apparently liking what she saw, she heaved herself up and settled against Steve’s chest. Steve didn’t move. Bucky rolled his eyes, set his phone to play some soft classical, and started reading. 

Hours passed. By the time Bucky realized the music had ended, thick silence had covered the living room for forty minutes. He didn’t bother to put on more. Tulip snored in the way Bucky had learned was simply associated with her breed. Aapeli had squeezed herself onto the cushion only partially taken up by Steve’s feet. Eva stretched out and sighed heavily, having just woken up from a vivid dream. And once again Bucky was caught up in the realization that all of this was his. For so long, Bucky had believed that dreams were the only place that he could reach this level of contentment. Real life had finally become better than his dreams. This happiness and comfort and feeling of safety, this was his. Happier than he thought was possible, Bucky continued reading. 

He didn’t know how long Steve had been watching him, eyes filled with wonder and adoration, by the time Bucky realized. 

“What?” 

“You’re beautiful,” Steve murmured, voice sleepy. “I don’t tell you that enough.” 

And for some reason, maybe because of how domestic the setting was, (Bucky’s hair tied up in a messy bun, beard slightly grown out from the way he really liked it, chin for sure doubled slightly), or maybe because he’d done nothing to warrant the compliment, the heat of embarrassment flooded his cheeks. Steve’s small smile grew even more pronounced. He shifted slightly so he could more easily take in Bucky’s face. 

“I’ve always thought that. It was actually the first thought I had after I stopped being angry that you ended the fight I was in. You were the first thing in this world that made me realize I didn’t have to be angry all the time. I just remember you walkin’ back down the street after depositing me back with ma and you turned your head and the way the light caught your face.” 

He smiled in the way that meant he was reliving the moment. Bucky was caught speechless. 

“I thought you were looking at someone else but you were looking at me and there was just this look on your face, this brand of confidence I’d never seen before, a type of honesty and cockiness like you knew exactly how you looked and weren’t afraid of it. I think I knew then that something was different with me. I went back inside and you kept walking and that was it for a while, but I knew deep in my soul that you were going to play an important role in my life.” 

Bucky nearly jumped when Steve brushed a hand over his, twining their fingers and tucking it under his chin after pressing a kiss to his knuckles. He still stared at him like he hung the moon. “And I’m not trying to rush you in any way because I know there are still things you need to work out, but god, I can’t wait until I get to marry you.” 

Not two minutes later, he was asleep again and Bucky was left wondering what exactly he was still waiting for. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Life is fucking wild man. Emma continues to be the best professor I've ever had. 
> 
> Notable chapter fuckups: Longer is now spelled lonegr 


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You sir, are an asshole,” Bucky said, finally freeing himself from Steve’s grip.   
“But you love me,” Steve replied with the widest grin he could manage.

It was always a strange phenomenon, waking up before Steve. Bucky could just see the beginnings of the sunrise from under the closed blinds. Steve still slept deeply, his head on Bucky’s chest, arm draped loosely across his stomach. There was a snore that turned into a sneeze. Steve didn’t wake. Bucky’s heart warmed considerably and he rolled his eyes. 

Steve hadn’t woken again last night. Bucky had carried him to bed and had spent the forty minutes it had taken for himself to fall asleep in pure bliss. It was the same bliss he felt now. It was rare that he woke up with Steve still in bed with him, and he was going to savor it for as long as he could. He ran a light hand up and down Steve’s back. Steve breathed lightly, curling more deeply into Bucky. One of his legs was now trapped between both of Steve’s. Bucky allowed himself a small smile. 

If he hadn’t scheduled an appointment with Dr. Scheinbaum for that morning, Bucky probably would’ve let himself fall back asleep. He was sure she would understand the rescheduling, but he had things he needed to talk about. He needed her professional advice. So after a half hour or so of bliss, he very carefully extracted himself from Steve’s grip and got out of bed. Steve slept on. Addicted to the sight of him at peace, Bucky lingered a bit longer and pressed a light kiss to his forehead. All four dogs followed him when he left the room. 

Alpine purred and wound her way between his ankles when he entered the living room. Bucky scooped her into his arms and gave her a few moments of attention before setting her back down and going into the laundry room to feed them all. When the dogs were all outside, Bucky started the coffee and brushed his teeth. Heaping bowl of cereal in hand, he sat at the counter with a glass of water and coffee, and started working on the morning crossword. He barely got a quarter of the way through before conceding. One day he would finish the entirety without needing help. 

Bucky showered and quietly got dressed. Steve still slept in the same position Bucky had left him in. Daisy and Eva had rejoined him on the bed. After checking the time, he set an alarm and settled on the couch with a new book. The house was unnaturally quiet at this time in the morning. Bucky found he enjoyed the stillness, the morning light filtering through the tall windows. Aapeli jumped onto the couch beside him. Alpine curled purring on his shoulder.

Completely engrossed in his book, Bucky jumped when his alarm went off. Twisting his back and getting a satisfying pop, he stood and went back to the room. Steve was still asleep. Bucky couldn’t remember the last time Steve had slept past nine. If he hadn’t known how exhausted the past week had made him,he would’ve been worried. He knelt at the side of the bed. 

“Stevie,” he whispered, gently shaking his shoulder. “Stevie, wake up.” 

It took a few moments, but eventually Steve groaned, a heavy eye-lid opening. “Wha?” 

“I gotta go, okay?” Bucky said, fighting a laugh. Steve was clearly still mostly asleep. 

“No,” Steve mumbled. “No leaving. You stay.” 

He blindly reached out, searching for Bucky’s hand. Bucky wasn’t quick enough at pulling it away. Steve grabbed it and tucked it under his chin. Bucky used his free hand to stroke Steve’s cheek. 

“I have an appointment, Stevie. I gotta go. I just didn’t want you to wake up to an empty house.” 

Steve only readjusted his grip on Bucky’s hand, pulling him closer in the process. With his lips so close, Bucky couldn’t help but kiss him. This was apparently what Steve was hoping for because he used Bucky’s momentary distraction to pull him onto the bed and then rolled on top of him. 

“No. You stay.”  Steve wiggled slightly, positioning himself so his head was where he wanted it. Bucky couldn’t find it in him to be annoyed. How could he be? He was exactly where he wanted to be. 

“What do I need to do in order for you to let me go to my appointment, Stevie?” 

He had no answer. Steve was asleep again. Rolling his eyes, Bucky worked carefully to detach Steve, who had grabbed fistfuls of his shirt in a vice-like grip. This was what he got for trying to be considerate. Next time he would just leave a note. God did he love this man. 

When he was finally able to stand again, he looked fondly at Steve, kissed his forehead, and left the room. 

“Sorry I’m late,” Bucky said, making his way to the couch, Aapeli at his side. “There was a slight problem leaving the house.” 

“Oh?” Dr. Scheinbaum closed the door and sat in her chair. “Anything I should be made aware of?”

Bucky grinned to himself, remembering the moment fondly. “For once, everything is good. Steve was still sleeping when I was about to head out and I didn’t want him to panic when he woke up to an empty house, so I woke him for a moment to let him know I was leaving, and he declared there would be no such thing and manipulated me back into bed. It took a while to free myself from his sleeping body.”

She allowed herself a grin as well. “It’s good to hear that you two are doing so well. You’ve both gone through so much.” 

Bucky sighed. “Yeah. Yeah, we have.”

“So tell me, Bucky. What brings you in today?” 

“I want to ask Steve to marry me.” The words brought a rush of excitement and panic. Mostly excitement. 

“I hope you know how much joy those words bring me,” she told him, smiling again. 

“I think I might have an idea,” he replied with a small laugh. “Steve’s at school again, you know, and this past week was midterms, so he wasn’t home much. Last night we had our first night in a while of unwinding together on the couch and Steve fell asleep early on, which I expected because of how exhausted he was. So I turned off the movie and started to read and at one point, I looked away from my book to see him just watching me with this sappy, doe-eyed expression on his face. He tells me this story about how he knew I was going to be an important piece to his life from the first day we’d met, and then he said he couldn’t wait to marry me and then he fell back asleep, and I was just left wondering what I was waiting for.” 

“So, what are you waiting for?” 

Bucky lifted his shoulders and let them fall. “I don’t know. I was waiting for the Soldier to be gone completely, but I don’t know if that’s ever going to happen. I know he’s still there, but he hasn’t really made an appearance in a while. I don’t know if I’m using him as an excuse.”

“An excuse for what?” 

“Something that I’ve forgotten.” He tapped his foot and looked just past her at the shelves full of books and plants. “Did I ever finish naming all of them?”

“You’re deflecting, Bucky.” 

Bucky sighed heavily and looked at the floor, scratching Aapeli’s ears. “I know.” 

“What are you so afraid of?” 

He bit the inside of his cheek. “It’s not that I’m afraid. Okay, maybe I am. And it’s stupid, because I know I should want to get rid of it because of everything it represents. I hate it and that was the point of him sending it back to me, but it also reminds me of everything I’ve gained since.” 

“I’m afraid you’ve lost me, Bucky.” 

He still looked at the floor, rubbing Aapeli’s silken ears between his fingers. “I know. I promised myself I wouldn’t tell anyone about this. It’s my skeleton in the closet. Quite literally actually.” 

He took a deep breath and chanced looking up. Dr. Scheinbaum’s eyebrows were furrowed slightly. Her portfolio and pen were sitting on the coffee table. He had her full, undivided attention. Bucky looked back down, this time staring at the seamless interlocking of the vibranium plates that made up his left arm. Shuri had recently sent him a new black and gold one that had even more sensation than the one he’d requested for the Pride Parade. Steve had spent the entire first day holding and kissing his hand. Bucky made a fist. 

“Shortly after moving into our house, I got a package from Tony Stark. I was so paranoid it took me a month to open it, and then I spent a long time wishing I never had. I shoved it deep into the back of our basement closet and tried so hard to forget that it still existed. For some reason, getting rid of it never seemed like an option. Steve doesn’t know it exists, and I never want him to know.” 

His foot started tapping again. His left fingers closed around his right wrist. Aapeli nosed his hands and forced him to release his grip. He didn’t know why he was so nervous. There was no way it could hurt him more—at least, not any more than it already had. 

“He sent me the arm Hydra had fashioned me—the one he blasted off during our fight in Siberia.” 

He could tell by her face that that wasn’t what she was expecting. “Why didn’t you want to get rid of it?” 

Bucky’s smile was twisted. “Because I needed to pay my penance. And I know now that I’ve already paid enough, you don’t have to worry about me falling back down that hole. I guess I’m kinda just stuck with the idea it reminds me of everything I have now and how much I’ve grown.” 

“How is it doing that stuck at the bottom of a closet?” 

“I don’t know,” Bucky said, and that was the truth. He chose to deflect again. “Maybe the real reason I told Steve I wasn’t ready to marry him was because I was the one who wanted to ask. Because if I got to ask, everything got to be on my terms and it could be when I believed I had permission to be so insurmountably happy.” 

He hadn’t seen her look this disappointed at something he’d said in a while. 

“You don’t need permission, Bucky. You can do things just because you want to. You don’t have to pay for actions you had no choice in, you don’t have to hold on to things because they remind you of a time you left behind. You don’t need to wait to be happy. Life is short, well usually-” she allowed herself a small smile here, and Bucky gave a small huff of a laugh. 

“Life is short. You get to take what you want, when you want it. You don’t need to ask for permission for things that make you happy. You don’t need to ask for permission to move on with your life.”

“I don’t need permission.” Bucky felt the words settle in him. 

“You don’t need permission. It’s your life. I’m not going to tell you what to do with your skeletons. Make the decision based on what’s best for you. If all it’s doing is reminding you of everything you’ve gained since and how far you’ve come, who am I to tell you to get rid of it? Trust in yourself to make the decision you need to make, not the decision other people expect you to make.” 

Bucky nodded. “I guess that’s what I needed to hear.” 

Dr. Scheinbaum smiled. “I think it’s what everyone needs to hear every once in a while. We’re trained to please other people first that we sometimes forget we’re in control of our own destiny.” 

Bucky nodded again, staying silent as he tried to digest everything she’d told him. He liked that she never told him what to do, but rather gave him the tools he needed to make the best decision for him. 

“So, are you going to be engaged the next time I see you?” she asked. 

“I don’t know yet,” Bucky told her. “I have a few things to think about. If I’m not, it’s not because I think I don’t deserve it.” 

“That makes me happy to hear, especially coming from you. I really hope you know how far you’ve come since your first session, and I want you to know how proud I am of you.” 

Bucky smiled. “Thank you. For everything.” He stood and started walking to the door. 

“Of course. I’m always here for you. Give Steve my best.” 

“I will.” 

*** 

Steve woke up on six different occasions that day. The first three times were in the middle of the night, Bucky and the dogs all snoring. He couldn’t even really call what he was awake because he was asleep again before he could think more on it. The fourth was when Bucky woke him up to tell him he was leaving. Steve only vaguely remembered telling him no and somehow getting on top of him. The fifth and sixth were sometime after he left. 

After the fifth, there was a small part of him that told him he should get up, but he couldn’t bring himself to actually move. The sixth was when he realized he’d fallen asleep again and resolved to actually get up. So he forced his eyes to stay open, but that didn’t mean he got out of bed. He’d never actually just allowed himself to relax after waking up. Sure, maybe he’d linger for a few minutes and watch Bucky sleep for a while, but he always got up and started his day. It was ridiculous, he was now realizing. If he had no plans, what was the point of getting up right away? Why would he leave the bed when he could watch Bucky sleep and revel in the fact that he got to do that? 

It was this line of thinking that found him to still be in bed when Bucky got home. His eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hairline when he walked into the room to find him still under the covers. 

“It’s almost eleven and you’re still in bed. Do I need to be worried?” 

“Nah. I’ve just discovered the luxury of staying in bed for a while after waking up. It has nothing to do with the fact that I officially woke up about twenty minutes ago.” Honestly, he could probably fall back asleep if he really wanted to. If he could get Bucky back in bed with him, he might just never get up. 

“Last week really took it out of you, didn’t it?” 

“There used to be a time where I could function on two hours a night, but not anymore.” 

“Oh, you poor baby,” Bucky said, sitting on the edge of the bed. 

Steve put out his lip and blinked at him. Bucky’s resolve cracked in an instant, if he’d even had any to begin with. He scooted himself up until he was beside Steve, propped up on one elbow. His left hand traced Steve’s jaw. 

“How did I get so lucky?” he murmured. 

Steve grinned up at him. “You were dumb enough to hang out around me.” 

Bucky snorted, but couldn’t fight the grin spreading across his face. Steve slid his hand into Bucky’s hair and pulled his head down. He didn’t think he could ever get tired of kissing him. If he did, that was how he’d know something was wrong. 

“Your breath is terrible,” Bucky said, pulling away. 

“Just for that, I’m going to breathe in your face.” Steve wrapped his arms around Bucky before he had time to get away and pulled him against his chest. Bucky laughed and pushed Steve’s face away. 

“You fucker. Just for that, you don’t get any more kisses today.” 

Steve feigned offense. “You don’t mean that!” 

“Oh, yes I do!” 

Steve put his lip out again and tightened his hold on Bucky. He didn’t know if he would ever let go today. Call him attached, or clingy, or co-dependent, but the past week had been difficult and he hadn’t enjoyed how little time they’d gotten together. 

“Nope, you’re not going to win me over with that pathetic mug.” 

Steve blinked, looking up through his lashes. Bucky just closed his eyes. Sighing dramatically, Steve slid his hands one by one under Bucky’s sweater and rested them very lightly on his ribs. 

“Steve,” Bucky said. “Steve, what are you doing?” 

“What I have to. I’m afraid you leave me no choice.” He slowly started to drag his fingers along his ribs and across his stomach. 

Bucky tried squirming away, but Steve had him locked. “You’re not helping your case!” He yelped when Steve reached a particularly sensitive spot and concentrated his tickling. “Fine! If you brush your teeth, I’ll kiss you again.” 

Unfortunately for Bucky, his face was turned towards Steve. He realized this too late and Steve pressed a smacking kiss to his lips and then cackled wildly. 

“You sir, are an asshole,” Bucky said, finally freeing himself from Steve’s grip. 

“But you love me,” Steve replied with the widest grin he could manage. 

Bucky’s eyes immediately softened and he gave the smile Steve loved the most. One meant just for him. “Yeah, I do. Now go brush your teeth so I can keep kissing you.” 

It was the fastest Steve had ever gotten out of bed. He heard Bucky’s laugh even through the closed door of the bathroom. 

True to his promise to himself, Steve didn’t let go of Bucky for the entire day. (There were exceptions, when Bucky insisted he could go to the bathroom by himself, but that was it). When Bucky made them lunch, he was plastered to his back, his arms around his waist. When they went on walks, their fingers were twined and shoved into Steve’s jacket pocket. By the pleased smile he wore when he thought Steve wasn’t looking, he knew Bucky wasn’t upset. Quite the opposite, actually.

“Hey, Stevie?” Bucky asked later in the evening. They’d just finished doing the dishes, where Steve had conceded to letting go so he wouldn’t break any of the glassware he was putting away. 

“Hmm?” Steve wrapped himself back around Bucky and felt his little laugh more than he heard it. 

“Do you think we could continue the Irish lessons?” 

“I don’t think you need them,” Steve told him. “You’re already able to hold a steady conversation.” They did it every once in a while. Those were some of Steve’s favorite evenings. 

Bucky ducked his head the way he did when he was embarrassed. 

“What?” Steve asked. He backed Bucky against the counter to prevent him from fleeing the way he sometimes did in situations like this. 

Bucky muttered something that even Steve’s serum-enhanced ears couldn’t pick up. 

Steve lifted Bucky’s chin. “Buck, you know you can tell me anything.”

“I want our kids to grow up learning it, so I want it to be second nature to me.” 

Steve kissed him at that. 

“You know, if you don’t want to, we don’t have to wait until we’re married,” he said a few minutes later. Now he was the one to be embarrassed. “If you wanted to start the adoption process now, I think I’m ready.” 

This time it was Bucky that kissed him until he was breathless. Not that he was complaining. 

“One thing at a time,” Bucky said when he was done. 

“Then what was that for?”

“Because I know how much you’ve worked through to be able to say that and I want you to know how proud I am of you.” 

“Thanks,” Steve mumbled. “I’m not saying I’m going to be any good at it, but the thought doesn’t paralyze me anymore.” 

“Steve, you’re going to be an amazing dad. You are.” 

Steve nodded. Bucky kissed him again, just a soft press of his lips, and they went to the couch. They spent the entire evening speaking in his childhood language, Steve braiding Bucky’s hair in increasingly intricate plaits. He’d be lying if he said he wouldn’t be sad if Bucky decided to cut his hair. Braiding it had become something of a comfort to him, and he did it whenever he could. When they’d had downtime, Peggy had taught him using pieces of rope knotted together. After Bucky had fallen from the train, Steve had braided through entire nights rather than face the nightmares. Now it was just another way he reminded himself that Bucky was here. 

_ “Is breá liom tú,”  _ Steve murmured, completely interrupting something Bucky was in the middle of saying—or trying to say, for that matter. 

“I love you, too,” Bucky replied. And only pausing long enough to let Steve kiss his cheek, he continued on trying to tell a story about a pig that had gotten loose on base and the chaos that had ensued. Steve smiled, shifted so his head was against Bucky’s chest, and was content. 

***

“Hey, Buck?” 

The lights had been off for the past forty minutes, and Bucky had been on the cusp of falling asleep when Steve’s voice brought him back. 

“Hmm?” 

“I’m not tired.” 

Of course he wasn’t—he’d slept for over sixteen hours—but Bucky didn’t want him to stay up all night; that was when he tended to overthink and his anxiety made him withdraw. He turned so he was on his back, his shoulder bumping into Aapeli. “I think I can change that. Come here.” 

“Oh?” The bed shifted as Steve rolled over, and then Steve kissed him. Bucky resisted elbowing him. He for one  _ was _ tired and wanted to sleep. 

“Get your mind out of the gutter, Rogers.” 

Steve chuckled and rested his head on Bucky’s chest. Bucky lightly stroked Steve’s nose and sang a clumsy version of Sarah’s lullaby. Sure enough, not five minutes later, Steve was asleep. Bucky followed shortly after. 

Bucky knew it was going to be a bad day when he woke up and he couldn’t get his vision to focus. If he was lucky, he could go back to sleep before the pain set in and be able to negate most of it, but when had he ever been lucky when it came to pain? The knowledge that at any second it could feel like his skull was exploding kept him wide awake. Already it felt like his skin was crawling. 

The thought of Steve turning over and curling into him forced him out of bed and onto the couch. He dragged the thick knit blanket over his head and tried to block out any form of light and noise. Aapeli whined softly and nosed his hand. He ignored her and eventually she left. Probably to get Steve. Sure enough, there were soft footfalls and the sound of Steve’s knees popping as he crouched at the side of the couch. When his hand worked its way under the blanket and touched his shoulder, Bucky flinched away. Steve’s sigh was sad. 

Bucky didn’t know how much time had passed by the time he chanced coming out from under the blanket. The blinds had been pulled so only a few slivers of sunlight made their way into the living room. Steve and the dogs were nowhere to be seen. They were probably on a walk. He knew how useless Steve felt when he had a migraine. 

The pain hadn’t yet hit him. Bucky wasn’t naive enough to believe that it wouldn’t come. Vision still fuzzy, he forced himself off the couch and into the shower. It was miserable, but he knew he’d feel worse if he didn’t. By the time he was dressed, he thought it might be possible to have a semi-normal day. Sure, he felt lousy, but that was nothing new. As long as it was dim and quiet, it might actually be possible for him to exist without wishing everything would end. 

That changed the moment Steve returned home. Bucky was passing by the front door when it opened, and as soon as the first beam of sunlight hit him, intense pain sliced through his head. It was only by luck that he stayed upright. He forced his arms to stay at his side and not curl around his head like he wanted them to. Bucky didn’t want Steve to think that it was his fault. 

His vision wavered. His right eye was so fuzzy it was like he was looking through static. Bucky forced himself into the kitchen where he took out a glass and filled it with water, taking small sips. He tried not to wince at every sound. Tulip and Daisy wrestled in the living room, distinct because of Tulip’s pig-like snorts and Daisy’s three-legged gate. Either Eva or Aapeli lapped water from the laundry room. Whoever wasn’t drinking had started gnawing at a bone. Alpine hissed at something and stretched up onto his leg, hoping he would pick her up. 

Another wave of pain slammed his skull. He could barely breathe. If Bucky had ever had four metal spikes pounded into his brain, he’d say the pain was akin to that. As it was, he’d never had that happen, but he could only guess the sensation was similar. One of the dogs barked at something outside. Bucky closed his eyes and forced himself to take a breath. Another dog joined in. Tulip. Again distinct because of her sounding exactly like a pig. 

“Buck?” Steve’s voice was soft and low. The voice someone would use with a scared animal to prevent them from attacking. He hovered close, but refrained from touching him. Bucky knew he wanted to. 

“Fine,” he mumbled. Another wave crashed into him, more intense than the last. 

“You’re shaking and you’re white as a sheet.” 

“I’m fine.” 

“You need to sit down.” 

“I said I’m fine, Steve! Just leave it,” he yelled and instantly regretted it. This time, he nearly lost his feet. The only reason he stayed standing was because he was holding onto the counter. He didn’t see Steve’s wounded look, but he knew it was there. 

It was at times like this that he didn’t understand why Steve loved him. Every migraine, he grew irritable to the point of being down right abhorrent. He would probably be worse today because of how long it had been since his last one. (By the end of the day, he’d snapped no less than five times). 

He grit his teeth until he thought he would break them. His muscles were so tense he knew he was only making things worse. He wanted nothing more than to curl up on the cool wood of the kitchen floor, his arms over his head to form a protective shell. He stayed standing, held up by the counter and sheer will. Any form of weakness was proof that Hydra had broken something in him. He couldn’t-wouldn’t give them that. 

Bucky didn’t know how he would ever be rid of the Soldier. Not when he was reminded of everything he’d ever been forced through with each stab of pain. 

He took another shaky sip of water and set the glass on the counter. The dogs barked again. Bucky’s grip tightened so much the glass shattered. It was too much. The pain. The dogs. The glass. Steve. Him. The Soldier. 

He knew Steve said something but he was in his room with the door closed before he could make out what it was. 

Steve refused to go to class even though Bucky begged him to. There was nothing to be done while he was like this. He couldn’t eat. He couldn’t sleep. He barely talked. All he did was alternate between the bathroom and the bed and prayed. Whether it was for the pain to leave or for him to die, that changed by the hour. 

It was the fifth day and if anything, the pain had only increased. 

It was one of the rare moments that Bucky was somewhere other than the bathroom or bedroom that Steve confronted him. He had his shoes on and keys in his hand. 

“Get in the car,” he said. 

“Why?” 

“Because I’m taking you to the hospital.” 

Bucky shook his head and ended up curling in on himself. “No,” he said when he was able to find his voice. 

“You’re not arguing with me on this. Get in the car. Now.” 

“No.” 

“I will carry you, but I don’t want to. Get in the car.” 

“No.” No hospital. No wires and machines and smells. No drugs that prevented him from fighting back. “No.” 

Bucky tried to turn to walk away, but the next wave of pain brought him to his knees. The last thing he saw before his vision went black was Steve rushing to catch him before he hit the floor. 

When he woke up, he was staring at an unfamiliar ceiling. It was the smell that told him where he was before anything else. Clean. Antiseptic. The wires and tubes and the beeping were the second indication. If he hadn’t seen Steve slumped in a chair, rumpled and asleep, Bucky didn’t know what he would’ve done. Even so, it took a long time for his heart to settle. 

The pain was still there, but it had lessened. It was only one spike as opposed to six. He was so tired. His eyes closed again before he could think anything else. 

He heard Steve’s whispered voice before he was truly awake the second time. His right hand was clutched between both of Steve’s. 

“Please come back to me. I can’t lose you. I don’t want to know what I’d do if I did. Please, Buck.” He sounded so lost and broken. 

When Bucky was finally able to drag his eyes open again, he found his vision was clear for the first time since the migraine had come on. Steve’s eyes were closed, his forehead pressed against Bucky’s hand. He looked bad. The nap in the chair had probably been the only sleep he’d had since Bucky’s migraine had started, and that had probably been unplanned. Knowing Steve, he’d made himself purposefully uncomfortable to try and prevent it. There were bandages around his thumbs, where he’d probably picked at his skin until it was raw and bleeding. His beard was longer than he usually kept it, and his hair looked like it hadn’t been washed in days. 

“Hey, Stevie,” he mumbled. 

Steve jolted upright immediately. The relief in his eyes was palpable. He made to kiss Bucky’s forehead and then apparently thought better of it and settled for stroking his knuckles instead. Over and over. Like if he stopped, Bucky would disappear. “How’re you feeling, Buck?” 

Bucky blinked hard in order to keep his eyes open. “Like I’ve been drugged and run over by a car.” Steve managed a weak smile. “I’m okay, Stevie. I’ve been through worse.” 

Thankfully, the doctor came in at that time and Bucky was spared the pity party of Steve’s eyes. Steve’s grip only slightly lessened when he learned Bucky wasn’t dying. It was the dehydration and lack of sleep and food in addition to the astronomical pain that had led to his collapse. 

After a lot of convincing (mostly for Steve), Bucky was discharged under strict orders to come back in if the pain even neared the level it had previously reached. Bucky had nodded along, knowing the only reason he’d go back was if Steve drugged him and brought him in against his will. While he couldn’t call the facilities Hydra had worked in a hospital, they all smelled the same. Even after his pleasant stay in Wakanda, it made his skin crawl. 

Steve was quiet the entire drive home, his hand clamped firmly around his. Bucky knew it would be a long time before Steve let him go again. When they got back, Steve helped him shower and made him eat some soup he’d had had the foresight to thaw. Aapeli stuck close to his side, and the hand that wasn’t in Steve’s was scratching her ears or in her ruff. Neither of them spoke much. 

Bucky wasn’t going to lie, that migraine had scared him. Yes, they all usually lasted a few days or longer, but the pain always ebbed as the days passed by. This one had just kept getting worse. He didn’t remember at what point he’d just stopped eating because it would eventually come up. He was scared that if they continued on like this, he’d start losing memories again. He couldn’t face that. He didn’t want Steve to face that. 

Steve forced Bucky into bed early that night, and then after a second of looking at his empty spot like he was debating if he was allowed in, crawled in and put his ear directly over Bucky’s heart. It wasn’t long before Bucky realized he was crying. 

“I’m okay, Stevie, I promise.” 

“You scared me.” 

“I know.” He scared himself. 

“I thought I was going to lose you. I thought something was wrong. It took you so long to wake up. I think the only reason they let me stay past visiting hours was because they knew who I was and didn't want to say no to me.”

“I’m here. It’ll take a lot more than that to take me out.” He hoped. He prayed. He never wanted to hear that broken voice again. “Stevie, I need you to promise me something.” 

Steve sniffed. “Anything, you know that.” 

“I need you to promise me that if anything does happen to me, Steve if I die before you, I need you to keep living. I can’t have your life on my conscience.” 

There was a pause before Steve said, very quietly, “I can’t promise that.” 

“I need you to. I need you to look at me and promise that you’ll keep living. You won’t isolate yourself. You’ll live with Nat or Sam and you keep living. If we have kids, you stay with them. Please.” 

Steve looked up and met Bucky’s gaze. “I promise.” 

“Thank you.” He kissed Steve’s forehead and felt a shudder go through him. 

When Steve shifted his head back over Bucky’s heart, he twisted fistfuls of his shirt in his hands and held on just a bit tighter. After remembering how scared he’d looked in the hospital, Bucky tightened his own hold and promised himself he’d only let go once Steve did. 

“The first thing you let me buy you was a charcoal pencil, real or not real?” 

“Real. Why?” 

Bucky shrugged, trying to push away his embarrassment. Or maybe it was his fear. “If I start to lose my memories again because of these migraines, I want a way to see if I get them back.”

Steve caught on immediately. “Real or not real. The first crush you told me about was Dot.” 

“Real, but I only went out with her because of my feelings for you. Real or not real, you’ve been scared to climb trees ever since you got stuck in one.” 

“You rude ass. Real.” 

Bucky found himself smiling for the first time in days. The game went on for another twenty minutes, until both of them were too tired to think of anything else to quiz the other on. 

“Real or not real,” Bucky whispered in the dark, desperate for one last answer. “You love me despite everything I’ve put you through.” 

Warm lips touched his cheek and the corner of his lips. “Real. That will never change.” 

Bucky nodded and finally let his eyes close, happy to be safe in Steve’s arms. 

“Real or not real,” Steve whispered a few minutes later. There was a slight waver to the words. “You want to marry me.” 

“Real.” Real. Real. “Real or not real, you’ll say yes no matter how long it takes for me to ask.” 

Steve somehow curled himself even deeper into Bucky’s side. “Real.” 

Steve was watching Bucky when he woke up the next morning. There was a furrow between his brows that didn’t quite go away when he opened his eyes. Steve had never been good at keeping the emotion from his eyes. 

“Did you sleep at all?” he asked, voice still thick with sleep. 

“A little.” Bucky knew that was a lie as soon as it left Steve’s lips. He’d spent the entire night watching him, ready to act if anything went wrong. 

“Come here.” 

Steve moved so he was back in Bucky’s arms. Bucky carded light fingers through his hair. He hummed quietly. Steve fought to keep his eyes open. 

“Sleep, Steve. I’ll be here until you wake up. I’m not going anywhere.” 

“You’ll stay?” 

“Until the end.” He tightened his hold around Steve’s shoulders. “Sleep.” 

And Steve did. 

Bucky knew he was out of excuses for waiting. He needed to come to terms with the fact that he was never going to be free from the Soldier. No matter how long he went without an appearance, he would always be there. He was a part of Bucky’s life. If he kept waiting for the perfect time, they’d never get married. And hadn’t this week proven that he couldn’t take anything he had for granted? He needed to stop waiting for something to happen and make it happen. 

He didn’t need the arm to illustrate all that he’d gained. He lived it everyday. He woke up to Steve and his four dogs. Steve still loved him, regardless of the fact that he’d nearly killed him, regardless of the fact that he yelled when he was in pain, regardless of all the times he’d let him down. He had Steve, who would risk bringing Bucky somewhere he knew he hated because he wouldn’t risk the chance of needing to live without him. He had a house that he loved and a life he looked forward to living. 

The Soldier couldn’t take any of it away from him because Bucky wouldn’t let him. 

He still didn’t want Steve to know about the arm. Any mention of Tony sucked the life out of the room, and if Steve knew that he’d sent Bucky his arm, he’d go ballistic. It was better if he never knew. All Bucky needed to do was figure out a way to get rid of it without any way of retrieving it. He couldn’t have the option of regret. Once he let go, that was it. 

Bucky spent the rest of the morning trying to figure out a plan. When he was unable to come up with one that he liked, he simply watched Steve sleep. No matter what happened, they would be engaged by the end of the year. That was a promise. 

*** 

“Halloween is coming up.” 

It wasn’t a question. It was a fact. One that Steve had been trying to ignore because that meant the end of the semester was coming up and he was woefully behind. Although, that wasn’t his fault. Sure, he could’ve gone to class while Bucky had suffered with his migraine, but what kind of partner would he be if he hadn’t made himself available to any need Bucky might have needed? And besides, he wouldn’t have been able to concentrate in class anyway. Plus, he shuddered to think what would’ve happened if he hadn’t been there when Bucky had collapsed. 

That had been one of the single most terrifying moments in his life. He was still a little scared of falling asleep on the off chance that Bucky wouldn’t wake up. But he tried not to think about any of that because Bucky was here. He was standing in front of him with that look on his face that told Steve he wasn’t going to ignore him, even though he knew Steve wanted to. 

“Halloween is coming up,” he restated, waiting for Steve to acknowledge him. 

Steve ruefully dragged his attention from the sketch he was trying to figure out. “Halloween is indeed coming up.” 

“You’re dressing up.” 

“I’m not. Nat’s on assignment and Sam’s on vacation with his family, so I’m not dressing up.” 

“We’re taking Nicholas out trick-or-treating. You can’t do that in your normal street clothes.” 

By the look on Bucky’s face, he knew he wasn’t going to win this argument. “If you can find me something that doesn’t involve me becoming unrecognizable, or wearing something incredibly uncomfortable, or something that looks as stupid as my costume last year did, I’ll wear it. Those are my stipulations.” 

“Challenge accepted.” 

“What are you dressing up as?” Steve asked before Bucky could disappear. 

Bucky just grinned and disappeared in their room, presumably to raid their closet. Steve sighed and went back to his sketch. 

This assignment was meant to be frustrating, and it was succeeding. Well, it wasn’t an assignment as much as it was a challenge. Emma had told them to sketch something they’d never drawn before. They were forbidden to erase. If mistakes were made, they kept going. She wanted a packet of all their attempts and then an essay about their process. So far all he had was a few crumpled pages with multiple starting sketches. Theoretically, all he needed to do was pick something, but he wanted it to be something that mattered. He wanted to actually enjoy the process. 

Really, he should stop staring at an empty page and work on his other projects, but he’d promised himself he’d figure this out. And besides, he had time for his other projects. (That was what he’d said before midterms, too.) 

Tulip wandered over and shoved her head between his knees. Bucky maintained that she sounded like a pig, and Steve couldn’t contest that. It was one of the things that had made him fall in love with her in the first place. Steve set his pencil aside and scratched her head and chin. She took it as an invitation to jump on the couch and crawl onto his chest. 

If he hadn’t already drawn and painted the dogs, he would’ve done them. He preferred sketching subjects he could see in person rather than from a computer image. Sure, Emma wouldn’t necessarily know—he could easily make some sloppy practice sketches for her, but he was such a perfectionist that purposefully making mistakes would set him back. Or maybe it would be good for him. He wasn’t going to do it. However, that gave him an idea- 

“Hey, Buck?” he called. 

“Hmm?” 

“Can you come here for a sec?” 

Bucky came out of their room, taking headphones from his ears. Upon seeing Tulip, he rolled his eyes. “What? Do you need me to pick her up so you can go to the bathroom and I’ll be the monster rather than you? Because that’s low, Rogers. Real low.” 

“Whales are your favorite animal, right?” Steve asked, ignoring the previous question. 

“I like them, yeah.” 

“Could you hand me my phone please?” If he remembered this piece of information correctly, he needed to act quickly. 

“It’s on your desk, isn’t it?” 

“...Maybe.” 

“Will I be able to see the surface of your desk if I go into your room?” 

Steve suddenly grew very interested in scratching Tulip’s head. Bucky had once promised him a new set of paints if he managed to keep his desk clean for more than a week. The only problem with that was he’d been working on four pieces simultaneously. At the moment, he had no excuse for it to be as messy as it currently was. 

Bucky sighed. “You’re lucky I love you.” 

“Thank you,” Steve mumbled. “I love you.” 

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be back.” 

While Bucky was searching for his phone, he busied himself with playing with Tulip’s ears. Daisy also jumped on him, pinning his legs. Steve guessed the council had spoken and he was charged with taking a break. 

“If you really love me, you’ll let me organize your desk again,” Bucky said, throwing Steve his phone. It was a miracle it didn’t smash into his face because his hands had been trapped when Tulip readjusted herself. 

“Nope. It’s organized chaos.” It wasn’t, not really, but he found that he actually kind of liked the mess. It made him feel like he was actually creating. It was the only thing in the house he wouldn’t let Bucky organize. The only reason he’d been able to before was because the desk had been new and Steve had lost the puppy dog eye challenge.

“What if I hold things up and you tell me where to put them?” 

“No.” 

“One day,” Bucky muttered. “One day you’ll let me and it’ll be the best decision you’ve ever made in your life.” 

“Oh, I highly doubt that,” Steve said. He knew there was a sappy grin on his face. 

“And why is that?” 

“Because you’re the best decision I’ve made in my life.” 

Bucky rolled his eyes. “You’re a fucking sap, Rogers.” 

“You know it. Now give me a kiss. I’m unable to move and find I require one.” 

“What if I didn’t? What if I told you I won’t kiss you again until you let me organize your desk?” He was already kneeling by the couch, keeping his lips infuriatingly just out of reach. 

“Then you’ll be watching your back is what you’ll be doing, Barnes.” 

Bucky was grinning. “Oh surname, ouch.” 

“Just kiss me,” Steve whined. 

Bucky hovered just above Steve’s face. He was close enough for Steve to be able to feel his smile. He tried raising his head, but Tulip had positioned herself in just the place to make that impossible. Bucky chuckled when Steve whined again, and then pressed his lips to the both corners of Steve’s. He then kissed his chin, and his nose, and both cheeks, and his forehead, and everywhere that wasn’t his lips. Bucky pulled away and laughed at the pout Steve was now giving. 

“What? You just told me to kiss you. You never said where.” 

Steve just continued to pout. Bucky laughed again and pressed a light kiss to his lips. And then he left, presumably to go continue figuring out a costume for Steve. Tulip sighed and the slight shift in her weight allowed Steve to move his arm. He went to grab his phone only to find that it had fallen to the floor. Just out of reach. He sighed. 

“Hey, Buck?” 

“We’re going whale watching,” Steve declared at dinner. “You don’t get to say no. I’ve already purchased the tickets, and they’re nonrefundable.” 

Bucky looked up, eyes bright with interest. “When?” 

“November 9th. It’s a Thursday and I don’t have class.” 

“I’ll make sure to take the day off of work.” He looked like Christmas had come early. “Hey Stevie? I was thinking we should get a new bed.” 

Steve furrowed his brow. “Why?” 

Bucky’s eyes widened in surprise. “You’re telling me you actually like having two dogs on top of you the entire night? I for one would like to cuddle my fia-man without causing an upset.”

“You were going to say fiancé, weren’t you?” Yes, he’d wait for as long as Bucky needed, but Steve was ready. He was past ready to be able to call Bucky his husband. 

“I’m almost there, Steve. I promise.” 

Steve nodded and went back to his food. “I don’t really mind being cramped, but if you want a new bed, we can get one.” 

“I want one.” 

“Then a new bed it is.” 

They were sitting on the couch, soft jazz on the record player. Both of them were reading. It was something Steve wanted to get more into in order to give his mind a break from all the art. However, he hadn’t been able to pay attention to his book for the past twenty minutes. There was a radiant smile that kept breaking out over Bucky’s face. He would seem to realize that it was there and duck his chin while twirling a lock of hair between his fingers. When his chin came back up, the smile would be gone. It wasn’t long before it would be back. Steve’s fingers ached to draw it. He committed it to memory instead. 

Finally, Bucky noticed that Steve wasn’t reading. His cheeks reddened and his bottom lip went between his teeth. He ducked his head. “What?” 

“You look happy.” 

Bucky reached out and grabbed Steve’s hand. “I am.” 

Steve kissed his knuckles. “Me too.” 

***

“So who am I supposed to be?” Steve asked. It was Halloween. 

“You’re kidding.” Bucky had been ecstatic when he’d pulled the costume together. With Steve’s stipulation, it had taken a while for him to think of it, but once he had, he was surprised it had taken him as long as it had. It was genius. 

“Should I know?” He stared in the mirror, a frown of confusion on his face. 

“You’re serious.” He’d thought the costume was self-explanatory. A red cardigan over a white button-down and a tie, khakis. Blue sneakers. Steve had even shaved. It was a perfect reproduction. 

“Mr. Rogers, Steve. You’re Mr. Rogers.” 

“I know I am. But who am I dressed up as?” 

“Oh my god.” Bucky took a deep breath and rubbed his face. “Mr. Rogers, Steve. The television character.” 

Steve still looked blank. Bucky immediately grabbed his phone and pulled up YouTube. “If we’re late because of this, I’m blaming you.” 

They spent the next half hour watching compilations of Mr.Rogers’ best moments on YouTube. Steve was much happier with the costume when he realized he was basically playing a less bloodthirsty version of himself. 

“And who are you?” He asked this one with a grin, so Bucky knew he was just being an asshole. 

“I want a divorce,” is how Bucky responded. He hadn’t donned the cheap afro wig only to go unrecognized. 

“I’m pretty sure we need to be married in order to get a divorce,” Steve said, still wearing that ridiculous grin. 

“Just get in the car, Mr. Rogers.” 

Steve kissed his cheek. “As you wish, Mr. Ross.” 

Nicholas stared at them when they showed up at the apartment. He was dressed head to toe in black. Cardboard wings covered in tinfoil were strapped to his back. Swim goggles sat on his forehead, ready to be pulled over his eyes. Sam would be ecstatic if he saw the effort put in. 

“Who’re you supposed to be?” he asked, staring up at Steve. 

Steve turned to Bucky, one eyebrow raised. “See?” 

“Oh my god,” Steve muttered. “Am I the only one who knows Mr. Rogers around here?” 

“I think it’s a wonderful costume, Steve,” Katie told him. She stood behind Nicholas. 

“Thank you,” Bucky said. In his enthusiasm, he nearly hit Steve in the face with the paint pallet he’d borrowed from his room. “All credit goes to me. Everyone knows I’m the brains in this happy little accident we call this relationship.” 

Katie laughed. 

Steve said, “hey.” 

Bucky kissed him on the cheek. It was a strange sensation, meeting smooth skin rather than beard. He’d get used to it quickly. 

“Alright, Nicolas, you ready?” Katie asked. 

“Yeah!” he yelled, jumping up and down.

“You know he’s been waiting for this since you mentioned it the first time you,” Katie told Bucky. 

“Don’t leave yet!” a voice from deeper in the kitchen called. Their mother hurried from the kitchen. “We need pictures!” 

Katie rolled her eyes. “I’ll get my camera.” 

Nicholas lifted his arms to Bucky, who stooped down to pick him up. He loved the small weight on his hips. 

“Hi, Uncle Bucky.” 

“Hey, yourself. How’s my favorite superhero doing?” He heard Steve’s quiet snort beside him and ignored him. Nicholas was the only one at the moment dressed up as one. Not that he’d actually ever call Sam a superhero; his head was big enough as it was. 

“Good.” Nicholas ducked his head shyly. “I shared my brave powder with a girl in my class. Her mama got really sick and she was really scared. We’re bestest friends now.” 

“That’s definitely superhero material,” Bucky told him. Nicolas beamed. 

“We ready?” Katie asked, returning with her camera. 

“Yeah!” Nicholas yelled, right into Bucky’s ear. He tried not to wince. 

Steve laughed. Bucky set Nicholas down and they posed for a few photos. When they were finally ready to leave, Nicholas grabbed his candy bucket. It was red and also had cardboard wings. 

“Is that-” Steve started. 

“Redwing?” 

Nicholas just giggled. 

“Sam is never hearing about this,” Bucky muttered after the final goodbyes were called. 

“Agreed.” 

Bucky had known he was going to enjoy the evening, but he couldn’t believe just how much he did. Every house they went to, people cooed over Nicholas’ costume, causing them to groan at the thought of Sam preening. They only gave a light chuckle at his and Steve’s. It was obvious they didn’t recognize Steve, which was a goddamn shame, because the genius behind the costume deserved more than a chuckle. 

The true joy of the evening, however, was watching Steve interact with Nicholas. He utterly transformed. The man who had been utterly terrified at the thought of one day having kids was long gone. Steve was radiant in his joy. Between houses, he would pick Nicholas up and airplane him, while Nicholas held his left arm out in front of him and made flying noises. One day, it would be their own kid. It wasn’t just a hope. It was a fact. 

When parents recognized Bucky as Bob Ross, they asked for small nuggets of advice. Having watched countless hours of the painter, he’d pull his favorite “there’s nothing wrong with having a tree as a friend,” and just watch them smile. It was a nice change to provide joy to adults rather than inspiring fear. Then again, if they knew who he was, he wondered if that would still be the case. 

But, he had to remind himself, it didn’t matter anymore. He couldn’t control what other people thought of him. And really, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was right in front of him. Steve carting Nicholas around with that goofy smile Bucky loved so much. Nicholas saying “cut the check” every time he put candy in his Redwing bucket. His own happiness. 

Because he was right here, right now, and that was something the Soldier would never be able to take away. 

Bucky hoisted Nicholas onto his hip when they got back to the apartment. Neither of them had wanted to end the night. It had actually been Steve who insisted they get home because he had class in the morning. So, with much whining from the both of them, they’d started the journey back. 

While Steve talked to Katie and her mother, Bucky turned away, wanting his conversation with Nicholas to have a semblance of privacy. After all, the question he had was of vital importance. 

“Hey, Nicholas,” he said in a quiet voice. “If I ask you something that’s real secret, will you keep it locked up tight until it’s time to announce it to everyone?” 

Nicholas nodded vigorously. Bucky whispered his question into his ear, watching his eyes grow bigger and bigger. 

“Really?” 

Bucky nodded, smiling. “Of course! Who else would I ask such an honor of? But remember, it’s our little secret.” 

Nicholas nodded again, eyes still wide. 

“Ready to go?” Steve asked, hand on Bucky’s back. 

Bucky looked at him. “Not really, but I guess we have to get Mr. Rogers to bed.” 

Steve yawned. “We do.” 

“Well, Nicholas. Until next time.” Bucky gave him one last hug and then passed him to Steve, who also said goodbye. 

“Goodbye, Uncle Bucky, goodbye, Uncle Steve. Thanks for taking my trick-or-treating. I had lots of fun.”

“Thank you,” Katie and her mother said. 

“Our pleasure,” Bucky said. “Anytime you want us to watch him, just let us know. And Nicholas, remember.” He pantomimed zipping his lips and throwing away the key. Nicholas copied him. 

Steve took his hand and pulled him from the apartment. 

“What was that about?” Steve asked when they got in the car. 

Bucky smiled, closing his eyes as he thought about the scene he was going to make happen. “You’ll see.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter came out today courtesy of the program I use at work being completely down for two hours. Honestly, it was a great way to start my Monday. 
> 
> Editing saw my roomie and I staring at a sentence and yelling about the English language. "English come back to my brain" -actual quote said. 
> 
> Chapter Soundtrack: Spirit, Stallion of the Cimarron. Don't look for symbolism, it's just a childhood favorite. 
> 
> As always, comments bring joy and joy produces more writing :) <3


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An old friend makes an appearance.  
Or, the decision to let go of a piece of the past is made. 
> 
> The chapter soundtrack is, of course, Evermore by Taylor Swift

Steve sat at the table, laptop open in front of him, cursor blinking on a name devoid of anything apart from his name, the date, and the class. Soft music played from a YouTube tab. His sketchbook lay beside him, a rough outline of his pre-serum face mapped out. Bucky smiled to himself and headed into their room. 

He grabbed his journal and sat at his desk. Aapeli and Tulip lay on either side of his chair. Alpine jumped onto the desk and curled right next to his hand. Her tail covered the page he was wanting to write on. Rather than move her, he pulled his journal closer and started to write. 

_ Bucky, _

_ You never thought you’d be able to say that happiness was your default emotion, but somehow it is. That’s not to say that there still aren’t bad days— we both know that last migraine proved that there are always going to be bad ones. The thing is you’re not scared of them anymore. Steve has proven over and over again that he’ll never leave. No matter the trial, we’ll get through it and you know we’ll be stronger for it. _

_ You’re at the point where you can honestly say you’re, well, you’re not glad that everything happened to you. It would be concerning if you were glad for everything that happened to you, but you’re at the point where you- I don’t even know. It’s a feeling hard to put into words. You’re glad you’re here in this moment right now, and you wouldn’t be here unless it was for everything that happened. _

_ Honestly, this is something you can thank the Soldier for. He let you live so you could be here. _

_ He’s let you wake up next to Steve. He’s let you find passion in new things. He’s let you find grace in things you would’ve shunted to the side. He’s helped you find forgiveness. He’s let you be happy again. _

_ A List of Happy Things _

_ *I somehow woke up before Steve again this morning *His entire mouth was open and there was this string of drool hanging down his chin *and then he snored and sneezed at the same time and startled himself awake *it was one of the funniest things I’ve ever seen *Work is good *They keep asking when the “Attractive One” is going to visit again *Like please, we all know I’m the attractive one in this relationship *certain project plans are coming along nicely *Steve isn’t going to believe his eyes when he sees this *Friday is going to be good *I love my life *I love being happy _

_ You’ve made it. _

_ Yours always and forever, _

_ Bucky _

He spent a few minutes looking back at past entries. It was crazy how quickly things could change for the better. All he’d needed to do was believe he deserved good things. And he did. 

A full hour had passed by the time he walked back out. Nothing about the scene had changed. Steve still sat. The page was still empty. The insolent eyes of Steve’s younger self stared up at them. Steve sat hunched, his shoulders so visibly tight it made Bucky’s tense just looking at him. Bucky walked to stand behind him and started to massage his shoulders, willing them to soften. Steve didn’t relax. If anything, he grew tighter. 

“Come with me,” Bucky told him. 

“This paper is due tomorrow.” 

“And you’ve been staring at a blank screen for an hour. Come with me.” 

“I can’t.” Even his voice was tight. 

“Are you going to make me pick you up out of your chair? Because I will. You know I will.” He let a hand move from his shoulder to the hair at the nape of Steve’s neck. He could feel how Steve wanted to cave. “Stevie, come on.” 

He offered a hand. Steve stared at the computer. And then he uncurled himself from the chair. His shoulders stayed near his ears. Bucky grabbed a blanket from the back of the couch and led Steve outside. After sitting on the grass, he pulled Steve onto his lap and situated the blanket. 

A light breeze rustled the branches of the pine. The few crickets that were brave enough to endure the ever cold night chirped. Bucky breathed and held Steve. Steve breathed and let himself be held. 

“Tell me what you’re working on,” Bucky finally said. 

“It’s for Studio, a project that’ll be carried over into next semester. We were told to pick someone in our life that’s had a profound impact on how we live our lives. We can do the art in any medium we want, and then we’re to write a paper on how that person drove our choices when making the art. It’s meant to make us really think about how and why we’re making certain choices.” 

“So you chose yourself?” 

“I figured why not. I honestly thought it would make it easier. I thought with how far I’ve come, I’d be able to just whip this out and be done. Now I stare at my face and wonder who he is. I spent so long thinking that I was still that person inhabiting this body, but I’m not. And it’s not a bad thing, I’m just lost with what to say.” 

Bucky’s cheek rested against the top of Steve’s head. He thought. “When you think of that time, what is your first reaction?” 

Steve’s answer was immediate. “Fear.”

“You might have felt that way, but I never saw that, Steve. You saw me scared way more than I saw you. You channeled it.” He paused. “What was the thing that you feared the most?” 

“Losing you.” 

“And how did you use that fear?” 

“I let Erskine use the serum on me. I became Captain America.”

“So knowing all of that, how does the way you think of your younger self influence your sketching? Why did you choose to sketch rather than paint? Because I know you, and that was a conscious choice and not just because of time.” 

Steve was quiet for a while as he thought. His shoulders finally fell and he fully relaxed into Bucky. “Thank you,” he whispered. 

“Of course,” Bucky whispered back, pressing a kiss to Steve’s hair. 

“Can we sit out here for just a bit longer?” Steve asked. “I promise I’m not just procrastinating. I need this.” 

“For a little while longer,” Bucky said. “But not too long okay? I don’t want you up all night.” 

Steve nodded into Bucky’s neck. His lashes tickled. Bucky closed his eyes. A minute later, Steve tipped his head up and kissed him. A few minutes passed that way, and Bucky was tempted to take back what he’d said about how long they could stay out, but he needed to be the responsible one in this situation. So, he pulled away after pressing one last soft kiss against Steve’s lips and stood. Steve sighed but followed Bucky back inside where he sat back in front of his computer and sketchbook. Bucky sat across from him. 

They sat in companionable silence for the next couple of hours. Steve typed away, slowly at first and then with more confidence. Occasionally, he would ask Bucky a question and they’d talk about it for a while. Other times, he would return to the sketch and add a few more details. But mostly, they were quiet. Bucky read. Steve worked. 

At eleven, Bucky closed his book. “I’m gonna head to bed. Don’t stay up all night, okay?” 

Steve pulled his attention away from his computer. “I’ll try not to.” 

Bucky kissed him and went to bed. Steve still hadn’t joined him by the time he fell asleep forty minutes later. 

He woke up to his phone buzzing with a barrage of texts. The room was pitch black. He peered at the screen, nearly blinding himself in the process and saw that they were all from Natasha. The first one read URGENT. Groaning to himself, he opened his phone and thumbed through them. 

> NATASHA [3:49 am]: URGENT
> 
> NATASHA [3:50 am]: I’m outside your door right now
> 
> NATASHA [3:50 am]: We need to talk 
> 
> NATASHA [3:50 am]: I could simply let myself into your house, but I’ll be polite
> 
> NATASHA [3:50 am]: Let me in so we can get this over with 
> 
> NATASHA [3:50 am]: Now Barnes

He considered locking his phone and going back to sleep. 

> NATASHA [3:51 am]: Get your ass to the door 

Bucky rested his head on his arm for a moment, sighed, and got out of bed. Steve and the dogs had thankfully stayed asleep. He padded quietly through the house and unlocked the front door. Natasha let herself inside. As always, she was impeccably dressed. 

“It’s four in the morning, Nat. What could you possibly need?” he whispered. He wanted this to be over quickly so he could try and get a few more hours of sleep. 

“I know, but Tony is a son of a bitch who doesn’t sleep. And you know how he gets when he gets something in his mind.” 

Bucky’s jaw clenched and he let out a measured breath. “I do, which is why I’m only going to say this once. What the hell are you doing here on assignment from Tony?” 

“He wants to talk to Steve.” 

Bucky shook his head. “No. No way.” 

Natasha stared at him. “You don’t get to make that decision.” 

“Since it’s four am and you woke me up for this? At this moment it is. If Tony wants to talk, tell him to ask himself. Feel free to let yourself out.” 

Bucky turned away and started back to bed. It was unlikely that he’d fall back asleep, but it was still a few more hours of cuddling Steve. Natasha grabbed his arm. Without hesitation, Bucky whirled around, breaking her grip and pushing her into the wall. Natasha easily broke free. 

“Leave, please,” Bucky told her. “Before you wake Steve.” 

“Too late for that.” Steve padded into the hall, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He hadn’t bothered to put on a shirt. Bucky didn’t know what time he’d ended up coming to bed. “This better be good, Nat. I have class in five hours and I want to get back to sleep.” 

“It’s not,” Bucky told him. “Go back to bed.” 

“Tony wants to talk. He thought you would take the news better from me than him.” 

The corners of Steve’s lips tightened. “If Tony wants to talk, he knows how to reach me. You know where the door is. Please go.” He turned around and disappeared back into their room. 

Natasha didn’t move. “You know this wasn’t my idea,” she told Bucky. 

“But you still came at 4am.” 

“Because I think it would be good for Steve. And you’ve made it hard to reach the two of you.” 

Bucky stared at her for a moment. “That’s because we have a life, Natasha. Now go. Please.” 

She sighed, looking as upset as she would allow herself to look. It was something. “I’ll tell Tony what Steve said. But tell him to think about it. Please.” 

Bucky nodded once. Natasha let herself out the door. He locked it behind her and returned to bed. Steve was still awake, staring at the ceiling. He curled into Bucky once he got back under the covers. 

“Go back to sleep,” Bucky whispered, brushing a kiss against his forehead. 

Steve’s eyes closed and eventually his breathing evened out. Bucky’s mind was too busy to even dream of falling back asleep. Tony could’ve chosen anytime to reach back out. Why now? And sure, it could be completely harmless, but then why send Nat as an envoy? 

Steve stiffened in his sleep, limbs twitching. His breathing grew erratic. Bucky ran a hand through his hair and down his cheek, hoping to soothe him. It worked for a little bit, but then Steve jolted back awake. He quieted immediately when he saw Bucky and fell back asleep shortly after. Bucky continued stroking a hand up and down his back, enjoying every ridge of his spine. 

He would bet most things that the nightmare had been a variation of their fight in Siberia. It was another reason he’d vowed to never tell Steve about the arm Tony had sent; most nightmares he elected to share with Bucky placed him back there. If the meeting with Tony was an olive branch, Bucky would support it only on the off chance that it would help Steve’s dreams. But it was Tony Stark. The arrogant son of a bitch would need to come off his high throne to think that he would need to extend an apology. It was most likely something completely different. Something that would upset the peace and happiness of the domestic life they’d been able to set up.

Ultimately, it was Steve’s choice. Bucky would support him in whatever he chose. He just hoped it wouldn’t involve clean up. 

***

For the next three days, Steve tried and positively failed not to think about Nat’s middle of the night visit. Tony knew what he needed to do if he wanted to talk. Steve had given him the phone (sure, he’d been an asshole when sending it. He’d picked out a phone he was sure Tony would have an aneurysm over needing to use). 

And it wasn’t that he didn’t want to talk. Well actually, no. He didn’t want to. Tony had done his absolute best to kill Bucky during that fight. There had been no choice made when Steve walked away. If Tony was pissed over that, that was on him. He’d made it very clear what Bucky had meant to him before anything had come to light. Tony had known that making that stand had broken things between them. 

But there was that small part of him that did miss Tony. Miss was the wrong word. They’d never gotten along perfectly. They butted heads most days, but when Tony hadn’t been doing anything that made Steve want to jump out of a plane without a parachute, he’d enjoyed the company. Things hadn’t been solely on his shoulders if Tony was in the room. And they had worked well together out in the field. Well, until they hadn’t. 

Steve knew for a fact that Tony did ask Natasha to mediate. Natasha wouldn’t have done it otherwise. It wasn’t the direct outreach that Steve had wanted or expected when he’d given Tony the phone, but it was outreach. And honestly, Steve probably would’ve done the same. He didn’t know if he would’ve been able to look Tony in the eye and say he wanted to talk. So maybe, given that Tony had needed to actively choose to ask Natasha for this, he should give him a chance. 

At the moment, however, he wasn’t thinking about any of this. At the moment, Steve was sitting in front of a pottery wheel, his hands covered in wet clay. For so long, everything had been going so right. At this moment, everything went horribly wrong. It was then that he knew he’d fucked up, and he closed his eyes, accepting his fate. The double-walled pot he’d been attempting to make wobbled and exploded all over him. 

The pink-haired woman next to him laughed gleefully. “I told you to start with something simple, Steve.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve muttered, wiping the clay from his face with a wet towel. His shirt was a different case. “I know what you said, Megyn, but you should know by now that I have difficulty following simple instructions.” 

Megyn just continued to laugh. “You were so close. If you hadn’t wanted to go for a double-walled, you would’ve been home free.” 

“Yep,” Steve muttered again. “I’ll get it next time.”

“What, you’re not going to try again? You’re my evening entertainment.” She was sitting with her chest against the back of a chair. 

“Har har. No, I gotta get home before I miss dinner. I hadn’t realized how late it was getting.” He carefully cleaned the wheel and then walked over to the large wash basin and washed as much of the clay from his hands and arms as possible. There was definitely some already drying in his hair. Bucky would have a field day with this. 

“Fine. Go home, live your disgustingly domestic life while I slave away here,” she put a hand up to her forehead and pretended to swoon. 

Steve grabbed his backpack and slung it over his shoulder. “You’re not going home?” 

“Nah, I need to devote some serious time to a project, so I figured I hang out and see if I can make some progress. I’ll walk you out to your bike though. I need some fresh air.” 

Steve waited for her to get her things together, and then they walked through the quiet halls of the building. They passed a few pods of students with their heads together, but for the most part it was empty. When they finally exited onto the quad, Steve dropped his head back and took in big gulps of the frigid November air. Thick clouds covered the sky, seemingly tinged orange by the street lamps that lined the sidewalks. 

“Heads up, it looks like there’s someone fixing to steal your bike,” Megyn said as they approached the parking lot. 

Steve looked up and a large grin spread across his face. There was in fact someone leaning against his bike. A large man with a metal arm. 

“And it looks like you don’t care, cool.” 

When they reached his bike, Bucky shifted his weight. Steve, still grinning, slipped an arm around Bucky’s waist and pressed a kiss to his lips. “Hi,” he whispered, pulling back. 

“Hi,” Bucky whispered back. 

“So you really don’t care, cool.” Megyn still stood there, arms awkwardly crossed over her chest. 

“Right,” Steve said. “Bucky, this is Megyn. Megyn, this is Bucky, the almost fiancé.” 

Bucky stuck his hand out. “Pleasure to meet you, ma’am.” 

Megyn took it and shook it fiercely. “That’s madame to you, good sir.” She took her hand back and looked at Steve. “Well, the time’s awastin’ and if I don’t get back to work soon, nothing is going to happen and then I should’ve just gone home hours ago. See ya, Steve, Bucky the almost fiancé.” 

“Have a good night, Megyn.” 

Megyn was already walking away, but acknowledged his goodbye with a wave of her hand. Steve chuckled to himself and turned his attention back to Bucky. 

“What’re you doing here?” 

“Oh, so you can come visit me at the garage, but I can’t visit you at school?” 

“Is leaning against my bike like you’re some old school baddie considered visiting?” Steve asked, grinning again. 

“If this is my reception, I guess I won’t visit again,” Bucky said, feigning offense. 

“Don’t say that.” 

“Okay, I won’t.” Bucky paused for a moment, looking at the part of campus that could be seen from their spot in the dark parking lot. “It looks nice. You’ll need to give me a tour one day when there’s actually daylight.” 

“I think we can arrange that. I’ll bring you on a day I have an open period for Studio, and you can be my muse.” 

“Ah, schucks,” Bucky said, dropping his head and looking all bashful before a shit-eating grin ruined the moment. “I thought you’d give me an easier task. It’s hard, looking this good all the time. Don’t know if I can keep up my standards and work for you.” 

Steve punched his arm. “If you’re not going to be nice to me, I’m going home and ignoring you for the rest of the night.” 

Bucky snorted. “Yeah, and that’ll last four seconds before you’re whining for me to pay attention to you.”

“Fuck you.” 

“Can’t dispute the cold, hard truth, Rogers. Now, I’m going home because I’m hungry. You’re free to join me.”

“Oh, I almost forgot!” Steve said once they’d gotten home. They were currently in the kitchen making dinner. “I made you a piece of pottery.” 

Bucky didn’t turn from where he was sautéing peppers and onions. “Oh yeah? Where is it?” 

Steve looked down. “On my shirt.” 

Bucky just sighed. 

“Hey, Buck?” Steve had been unusually quiet at dinner. He’d spent most of it chewing on the question he was about to ask. “What would you tell me if I said I was considering talking to Tony?” 

Bucky finished the bite he was chewing and took a long drink of milk. “I’d say you’ve probably thought about it more than you should, but if it’s what you want to do, I’ll support you in it.” 

Steve nodded. “I think I’m going to.”

“Okay.” 

They finished the meal in silence, both of them lost to their own thoughts. Later that night while Bucky was showering, Steve opened his phone and sent a message to Natasha. 

> ME [8:48 pm]: You can tell Tony that if he calls me from that phone I sent to him, we can set up a time to meet. 

He thought for a moment longer. 

> ME [8:50 pm]: And you’re invited over for Thanksgiving 

As happy with it as he’d ever be, he locked his phone and picked his book back up. It was about twenty minutes later that his phone vibrated with Natasha’s reply. 

> NATASHA [9:09 pm]: :) 

-

Steve and Eva met with Tony at 10:58 am on the seventh of November. They met in a secluded corner of a rundown diner in Queens. As soon as Steve walked out of it, he drove straight to Dr. Scheinbaum’s office. He didn’t have an appointment. He was sure she was in with another patient, but he would wait all day if need be. He needed to talk to her. With what he had in tow with him, he was sure she’d understand. 

It’s not that it went bad. In fact, out of everything he’d expected to happen, what actually did occur was the last thing he’d planned for. It had been so far down on his list of expectations that he’d dismissed it as soon as he thought about it. How he’d wished he’d thought more now. 

He waited for exactly 2 hours 47 minutes and 5 seconds for Dr. Scheinbaum to be available, only moving once an hour to walk around the building and let Eva outside. He didn’t wait for them both to sit before he started talking. 

“I really appreciate you squeezing me in like this,” he said. “Normally, I’d call before coming, but this just came up today and I needed to work through this before going home.” 

Dr. Scheinbaum sat. “Take a breath, Steve. Sit down, take a breath and then explain to me what’s going on.” 

Steve had learned not to disobey one of her direct orders. He sat, took a deep breath, and said, “I met with Tony this morning.” 

“I’m assuming when you say Tony, you’re talking about Tony Stark?” 

Steve nodded. “I don’t think I need to catch you up on our history?” 

“I think it’s fair to say everyone knows your history.” 

Steve sighed and scratched Eva’s head. “Yeah. Anyway, he reached out through a mutual contact saying that he wanted to talk. I took a few days to agree to it because of how out of hand things got between us. I mean no, I wasn’t trying to kill him I don’t think, but I did put my shield through his arc reactor and if it had gone any deeper, I easily could’ve. But I only lost control because he was trying to kill Bucky, and the whole thing is a mess. But then I started thinking, maybe that’s exactly why I needed to accept. So I reached back out to our mutual contact and told her that if Tony reached out to me directly, we would meet.”

“And he reached out.”

“Yeah. And honestly, the meeting went well. Tony hasn’t changed at all. Well, he has. We both have, but I think where I’ve moved farther away from the fight, he’s still in the thick of it. And maybe that’s being unfair to him. Maybe I’m trying to push the blame away from myself. Maybe if I’d tried to have more conversations about things we’d disagreed on, tried to find common ground and then moved on from there things would’ve turned out different. I don’t know.” 

“It seems to me like you’re circling the problem, Steve. How about you tell me what’s in that canvas bag.” 

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Yeah.” 

The event he’d thought about for three seconds before pushing it off as impossible. Of course that’s what Tony had wanted to talk about. With a steadying breath, Steve unzipped the bag and let the front cover fall. The red rings were brighter than he remembered. Maybe it was because there had always been a layer of grime covering it when he’d been on missions. The scratches T’Challa had made we’re still there. Those and the blemishes Peggy had made the first time he’d picked it up in Howard’s lab. 

“He gave you back your shield,” Dr. Scheinbaum prompted. 

“I showed up to where he told me to meet him a few minutes early and he was already sitting there. This was under the table, so I didn’t see it at first. Actually, I didn’t see it until he pulled it out. We talked for a good ten minutes or so. He told me he and Pepper are expecting, which is exciting. I can honestly say I think he’ll be a good father. It’ll be good for him to have something else to work for.”

“You’re circling again.”

Steve dropped his head into his hands. “I know. I don’t know why this is so hard for me to talk about. The whole time I was sitting out in the lobby, I was trying to figure out what to say.”

“Might I offer my two cents?” she asked. 

“Please.” 

“Now I could be completely wrong. I’m pulling this together from what I’ve learned from listening to you for the past year and a half. When you were Captain America, everything was trying to pull you away from the life you have now. You were given the shield, Bucky picked it up on the train and it caused him to fall, and he was left to the mercy of Hydra. Being Captain America forced you to then fight and injure him.” 

Steve tried not to flinch, but failed. She noticed. 

“You get the picture. The moment you dropped the shield, you chose the life you’re living now. Getting it back is an upset to the balance you’ve been able to create.”

“It almost feels like I need to choose again. I feel like if something happens, if there’s another Chitauri attack or another branch of Hydra gains enough power to actually make some noise, I feel like I’ll have the responsibility to help. If I get back into battle, then it feels like everything I’ve worked for will have been for nothing.” 

“No. First of all, just because you have the shield doesn’t mean you have to pick it back up. You are Steve Rogers before you’re Captain America. Correct me if I’m wrong, Steve, but I do believe there was more than just you on the team you called the Avengers.” 

“There were,” he mumbled. 

“Which means it’s not on your shoulders. Of course, depending on a situation that might arise, you might decide you want to help. That does not mean it is your sole responsibility to fix the world. Okay, Steve? I want you to repeat that to me in your words.” 

“Just because I have the shield doesn’t make everything my responsibility.” And he knew he was only repeating what she’d said, but it made him feel better. 

“Good. Secondly, even if you go back, that doesn’t negate any of this work. Sure, there might be some setbacks, but setbacks don’t erase all the work you’ve already done. You have all the building blocks, you have the support system. Even if you went through the exact same thing again, you wouldn’t start at zero. You hear me, Steve?” 

“Yeah. The self-deprecating voice in my head is incorrect as usual.”

“We’re going to work on that one day,” she promised. “You’re not going to get away with that antagonizing self-talk much longer.” 

“If you can change that, I’ll owe you much more than I pay you now,” he told her, earning a smirk. Steve looked back down at the shield. “I guess the reason I was thrown so much when he handed me back the shield was because I’d willingly given it up. There was no choice in Siberia. There was no hesitation. I know Tony had meant to shock me when he told me I didn’t deserve it, but it was the shield or Bucky, and the answer is always going to be Bucky. Now that I’m sitting here and talking about it, I know I don’t have to make the choice again, but when Tony first gave it back, I thought I was going to have to.” 

“You are allowed to have both, Steve. I don’t know if you’ve been told that before, but you are the only one in charge of your life. If you want to be Captain America and have Bucky as your husband, you can. I’m going to tell you the same thing I told Bucky: Life is short. You don’t need to ask permission for the things that make you happy.” 

Steve nodded again, feeling slightly ashamed that he’d over reacted so much. He swallowed and voiced the question he’d been mulling over for a long time. “What if I don’t want to be Captain America anymore? What if I want to fully hang up the mantle?” 

“Then you get to do that. Just because people know who you are doesn’t mean that you owe them anything. Just because he made you who are today doesn’t mean you owe him the rest of your life. Make the choices that are best for you. And know that if you change your mind, that’s okay.” 

“How is it that you always know what to say?” 

This time she offered him a full grin. “I paid way too much for school. Now how about you finish telling me about this meeting with Tony.” 

So he did. He told her about how Tony had offered up the shield as a peace offering. How he didn’t expect it to fix everything between them, but he hoped that there wouldn’t be complete animosity. How even though he’d never be able to forgive Bucky for killing his parents, he’d come to terms with the situation and knew that he’d had no choice. He was happy for the two of them and wished them well. It had been everything Steve hadn’t known he’d needed. 

“On the whole, are you glad you went?” Dr. Scheinbaum asked when he finally finished. 

Steve looked at the shield and then back at her and had full confidence in his answer. “Yeah. I think I am.”

***

Bucky was knee deep in boxes and singing along loudly to Cascada’s _ Evacuate the Dance Floor _, when he noticed Steve standing in the doorway of their room. His face was just a mask of confusion. Bucky finished the lyric before pausing the song and removing his headphones. 

“You’re home early,” he said. 

Steve blinked. “Late, actually, for what I was doing today. Um- what’s all this?” 

Bucky looked at the mess that was their bedroom floor. “Oh, that new bed we ordered? Yeah, we need to put it together ourselves.”

“For the price we paid for that, that seems like a ripoff,” Steve said. “But I need a good project to work on that isn’t school, so let’s go. First question: has the new mattress arrived?” 

“You haven’t gone into your studio, have you?” Bucky asked. When it had arrived, he’d dragged the obscenely large rectangle of memory foam through the hallway and just dumped it into Steve’s room. It had been much more of a workout than it should’ve been. 

“Well, I was on my way but I was rightly distracted by everything that was happening here. Second question, shouldn’t we remove the current bed before building the new bed?” 

“That would probably be the best.” 

Steve nodded. “Okay. Give me a minute. I’m going to change into something more suitable.” He disappeared for a moment before popping back into the room and grabbing a pair of shorts and a tank top. If Bucky was right, it was the one he’d worn for the Pride Parade, the one where someone had cut the sides to expose Steve’s abs. He _ was _ correct. 

“Oh, get that look off your face,” Steve said when he finished changing. “It’s not like you haven’t seen me naked before. This combo of shirt and shorts should not warrant that face.” 

Bucky grinned. “Then you definitely shouldn’t be able to make any face when you see me ever.” 

Steve gasped in offence. “I’m not that bad!” 

Bucky snorted. “I beg to differ. But it’s fine. I know I’m super ridiculously attractive, and it’s hard not to gape every time I walk into a room.” 

“You’re ineffable,” Steve muttered. 

Bucky didn’t bother telling him that was a compliment. He simply wrapped his arms around Steve and pulled him against his chest, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Shall we take care of the bed?” 

“Yes, because I’m tired and want to go to bed early tonight.” 

They worked together to strip the bed, and carry the old mattress into the basement, where they set it in the closet. Bucky refused to look at the back corner where he knew his old arm was. It would be taken care of soon. Until then, there was no need to think of it. Back in the room, they carefully dismantled the old frame and carried it into the basement, where it would wait with the mattress until a decision on what to do with them was reached. 

When the room had the necessary space to continue building the bed, all necessary boxes were open and parts organized. They spent the rest of the afternoon putting together the bed to the dulcet tones of Cascada. Bucky stopped what he was doing for the entirety of _ Everytime We Touch _, and maybe they spent more time kissing than actually putting the bed together, but it did eventually get finished. The mattress was moved from its place in Steve’s studio. Bucky grabbed the sheets from the dryer and tossed one side of the fitted over to Steve. By the time the patchwork quilt had been carefully adjusted and the pillows were back in their proper place, Bucky was ready to collapse onto the bed and do nothing. Steve seemed to have the same idea because he did just that. 

Bucky curled himself around him, his head tucked into Steve’s neck. He pressed a kiss to the skin just beneath his jaw. “So, are you going to tell me what you meant by being home late? Normally you’re not home until after six on Tuesdays.” 

Steve didn’t answer for a long while. Bucky didn’t push. He enjoyed the quiet of their room and the comfort of their new mattress. Eventually, all four dogs deemed the room was safe and jumped onto the bed. Alpine was still probably angry at him for not allowing her in the boxes at the time of their arrival and sulking somewhere in the house, waiting for the right moment to demand his apology. 

It got to the point where Bucky wondered if Steve had fallen asleep when he answered. “I met with Tony today.” 

“I didn’t know you’d set that up,” Bucky said softly. It felt weird that Steve hadn’t told him. He wasn’t mad about it, it just seemed off. 

“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you stressing over it.”

“I wouldn’t have stopped you from going.” 

“No, I know. It’s just that I went over to see Dr. Scheinbaum right after, and I didn’t want you worried about me not coming home after a certain amount of time.”

Now it was Bucky to take his time to answer. “How did it go?” 

“I don’t regret going.” Steve swallowed. “He gave me back my shield.”

“Does he want you back on missions?” Bucky asked. He would hate that. He would ask Steve not to go. He would feel selfish doing it, but now that he had this, he wouldn’t let it go that easily. 

“No,” Steve said softly. “Well, he didn’t say. He just said it was a peace offering. Granted, I’m sure it was in his line of thinking. If something does happen and I’m called, I’ll be more likely to respond now that I have it.” 

“Are you going to become Captain America again?” He hated that his voice conveyed his dislike for the idea. In the end, he always wanted Steve to make the choices that were best for him. That didn’t mean he would like them, but he would honor them. 

Steve turned so he was facing Bucky. Their noses nearly touched. His eyes were so unfathomably blue, Bucky could stare into them all day and never get bored. Steve twined their fingers. 

“No. I’m putting him aside for good. I mean, if there’s a calamity, of course I’ll do what I can to help, but that’s not me anymore. It was easy to say when I didn’t have the shield, but actually holding it again and trying to picture myself back out in the field leading missions...” he shook his head. “I needed to have it in my hands to know for certain I was making the right choice.” 

“Is it selfish for me to say I’m happy to hear you say that?” 

“No. Our life is here.” 

“Will you miss him?” 

Steve furrowed his brow slightly as he thought. His bottom lip was sucked between his teeth. “Yes,” he said. “I wouldn’t be here without him. I owe him my life and everything I have now because I had the chance to live. But I’ll miss him in the way that two people who have grown apart miss each other on a random basis. You don’t need each other to live anymore, but you occasionally remember all the good times that you had.” 

“What are you going to do with the shield?” 

“Would it be too narcissistic to put it on the wall? I don’t want to forget the times I was him.” 

Bucky smiled. Steve wouldn’t know he was playing right into the project Bucky was working on. “I think we can make that work.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are slowly starting to wrap up, and it saddens me. If my planning is correct, I think there are about three chapters left. 
> 
> As always, comments make me incredibly happy. Lots of love to you all <3


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gay Panic and Love

Bucky stood with his hands on the railing, breathing in the salty spray of the air. Steve stood beside him, their shoulders brushing. The boat had left the harbor twenty minutes ago and was slowly making its way to the Ambrose Channel, where whale sightings had become more and more frequent. They hadn’t said anything the entire time they were on the boat. As soon as they’d boarded, they’d made their way to an empty section of railing. 

The weather was on their side in that it had kept the crowd small. A snowstorm had ravaged the entire city the previous day, and even now a few flakes fell from the steel sky. The air was cold. Nothing they hadn’t faced before, but enough for even their super-soldier metabolism to notice. The tip of Bucky’s nose stung. 

He was waiting for the right moment to ask Steve to give him a moment alone. Before they’d left the house, he’d gone into the basement and fished his arm out of the basement closet and shoved it unceremoniously into an old backpack. Whatever it took, he would be departing the boat without it. There was no place in his life for it. Not anymore. Not now that he had a future he was excited for. 

But there was time for all that to happen. For now, he just wanted to take in this moment with Steve. It had been a while since they’d gone somewhere together for no other reason than they wanted to. And besides, how could he ask Steve to leave when Bucky hadn’t looked away from his profile in the past ten minutes? To think that this beautiful man was the person that loved him, the person he would grow old with. It left Bucky feeling so filled with gratitude that he thought he would overflow with it. 

If someone had told Bucky a year ago that one year would find himself the happiest he would ever be, on the cusp of asking Steve to marry him, he would’ve laughed in that person’s face. A year ago, he wouldn’t have believed it was possible. A year ago, he and Steve had still been dancing around each other. A year ago, he’d started to believe that it would never happen. How wrong he was. How very, very, very wrong. 

Did he wish they’d had the courage earlier? Yes. Sometimes he wondered how things would be different if he hadn’t blocked their first kiss from his memory. It didn’t really matter, but it was something he considered every once in a while. Would they already be married? Would they even be thinking about it? Sometimes Steve had to pull him from the endless spiral of questions. 

But not right now. Not when he was simply staring at the simple, exquisite beauty that was Steve’s profile. Steve’s eyes were closed, his long eyelashes resting softly against his wind touched cheek. His chin was lifted slightly towards the sky. He was simply breathing, enjoying the moment. It was the simpleness of the moment that made it so special. For so long, simple hadn’t been a word that could be applied to their life. Now, it was Bucky’s favorite. Sure, it still wasn’t an everyday thing, but it was getting closer, and the simpler their life became, the happier they were. 

Bucky used to believe that a boring life couldn’t be fun. As a kid, he’d longed for the days he could be out from dawn ‘til dusk, each hour bringing a different joy. He thought it would be exhilarating. And sure, it might’ve been if he was still that person. He wasn’t, though. He was far from him. For a long time, Bucky had been ashamed of that. He thought the Soldier had stripped him away. And maybe that was true to an extent, but it also came from maturity. Bucky had simply changed. It wasn’t just the hours of therapy. It wasn’t just allowing himself to be wholly seen. It wasn’t just allowing himself to be loved by Steve, or allowing himself to be happy with Steve. It was Bucky allowing himself to be who he needed to be.

For the longest time, he’d been stuck in the box of needing to be who others thought he was. He’d forced himself into a period of stagnation because he couldn’t be the person he thought other people believed he was. Yes, he’d wanted to be free from the Soldier because he thought Steve wanted him to be free from him. Accepting not only was that never going to happen but that he was okay with that never happening had been the most freeing moment of his life. The Soldier was always going to be a part of him. Bucky had been him for longer than he’d existed as himself. He was the reason Bucky was the way he was today. 

He was stepping away from that part of his life, but it had happened. It was as integral in his story as loving Steve. 

Steve finally opened his eyes and caught Bucky staring. He ducked his chin slightly in that adorable way Bucky was so fond of. Bucky took his hand and kissed his knuckles. Steve’s happiness was palpable. 

Now how was he supposed to ask him to leave? 

He allowed Steve to wrap one of his arms around his waist, his chest pressed against Bucky’s back. It was awkward with the backpack, but Steve didn’t seem to mind. Bucky had never asked about it, but he’d come to assume Steve loved the position so much because, as the nightly little spoon, it was his chance to make Bucky feel protected. 

“You happy?” Steve asked after a few more minutes of silence. 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“You’re quiet.” 

“Until now, so were you.” 

Steve didn’t have the opportunity to respond before they heard the captain yell “there she blows!” Both of them turned their attention back to the water, where a humpback was breaching the surface. With amazing grace for an animal so large, it curved through the air, seeming to hang almost weightless, and landed back with an impressive splash. 

“Wow,” Steve whispered. 

Already, Bucky could see his fingers itching to draw, and he found his chance. He turned so they were face to face. “Go on closer. I’ll find you in a bit.” 

“What do you mean, you’ll find me?” Worry was already starting to cover Steve’s face. 

“Steve, I’m fine,” Bucky promised. “There’s just something I promised myself I would do while we were out here, and I need to be alone. That’s all. So go find us a closer perch and I’ll find you when I’m ready.” Bucky kissed Steve once and then pushed him away. 

“You’ll find me.” 

“When haven’t I? Now go on, before you miss the next whale.” 

Bucky almost thought Steve was going to walk away without securing one last kiss. He’d almost taken a step back before seemingly rethinking it and grabbing another one. 

“Go,” Bucky said, fighting back a laugh. 

Steve took a step back, and then another, without turning around. He seemed to be waiting for Bucky to change his mind. When it was clear he wouldn’t, Steve sighed and turned. Bucky watched him for another moment and then walked in the opposite direction to find a secluded spot. 

It took a few minutes of standing alone for Bucky to gather the courage of taking off the backpack and opening it. He took the arm from where it was nestled in blankets and held it in his hands. 

Bucky had only lost his forearm in the fall. Hydra hadn’t cared. They’d only seen the means for a weapon. He hadn’t known the body could endure pain so great the brain erased any memory of it until they’d operated on him without anything to numb him. Bucky turned the arm aimlessly. 

He’d hated this hunk of metal for as long as it had been attached to his body. He’d hated the scars that had come with it, the pain of misfiring neurons. He’d hated its strength and the way it weighed him down. Though excruciating, it had almost been a relief when Tony had removed it. It was only right that it was Tony who had done it, after everything Bucky had taken from him. An unfair trade for the emotions behind it, but a trade nonetheless. Pain for pain. 

The Soldier, Bucky had come to terms with. This arm, however, he never would. It was a reminder of too much he no longer needed to think of. 

Bucky didn’t know what he expected to feel when he angled his hands down and let the arm fall into the water below. There wasn’t relief or catharsis. There wasn’t regret. There wasn’t a sudden spreading of peace. He wasn’t magically better. It was simply gone. There was a simple poeticism to it, Bucky thought, as he stared down into the water. After everything it took from it, he gave it nothing in return. 

He stayed for another minute, and then he went to find Steve. 

***

It had been a long time since Steve had woken from his old nightmare of crashing the plane. It was something he rarely thought about anymore, and for good reason. If he thought about it and the consequences it would’ve wrought on Bucky had he succeeded in dying, he was struck by a freezing panic that saw him burrowing blindy under as many blankets as possible, and Bucky speaking softly to him was the only break him out. 

But he’d woken that morning shivering and terrified, the sound of creaking metal still ringing in his ears and the feeling of water still lapping at his legs. It was a rare time when Bucky hadn’t woken along with him; he’d still been sleeping, breath slow and steady, and Steve had been determined to work through the fear by himself. He’d pulled the blankets up to his neck and curled into the tightest ball he could in an attempt to get warm. Warmth had eventually seeped back into his limbs, but the terror had stayed. Not wanting to be scared anymore, he’d woken Bucky. Feeling safe and secure in his arms, he’d fallen back asleep with the thought that maybe he didn’t need to do everything he thought he needed to alone by himself. 

It was what he was thinking while waiting for Bucky to find him. He just hoped there weren’t things Bucky thought he needed to do alone because he thought Steve wouldn’t understand. He just hoped that whatever Bucky was doing alone was because he wanted to do it alone and not because Steve had pushed him into thinking he needed to do it alone. 

Steve promised himself he wouldn’t ask. Whatever Bucky was doing was his business. He didn’t look back to look for Bucky’s return. The promise that he would was enough. 

He smiled when arms slipped around his waist and whiskers scratched his cheek. For a while, he said nothing and they stood quietly like they had after they’d first boarded. Two more whales breached, and he gasped in awe at the graceful beauty of the large animal. Ideas for Emma’s sketches were coming to light, and if they turned out the way he wanted to, they would be beautiful. If they turned out, the final products would be a whimsical watercolor scene that would look perfect in their future daughter’s room (Bucky’s want for a baby girl was infectious). 

“Thank you for not asking,” Bucky murmured. 

“Don’t get me wrong, I want to,” Steve said. “But it’s your business. If you want to tell me, I know you will.” 

“Maybe. I just don’t want it to matter anymore.” 

“Then it doesn’t matter. It’s in our past. It’s time we start focusing on the present.” 

“Is that Dr. Scheinbaum I hear?” Bucky asked, echoing a favorite phrase of Steve’s when Bucky spouted something profound. Occasionally, it earned a punch in the arm. 

“I don’t know,” Steve answered. “I’ve heard her say it enough, but I also believe it now, so I don’t know.” 

Another whale breached, obscuring Bucky’s reply if he said anything. They didn’t say anything else for the rest of the tour, they simply enjoyed being together and living a normal, simple, life. 

When they got home, they both went to work. Bucky sat at the kitchen table at started drawing up plans for something Steve couldn’t even begin to guess at. (If he had to guess, it was something to do with the painting Bucky had asked him to do about a month ago, but he had no idea). Steve went into his studio, cleared off a space on his desk and started on the barebone sketches while listening to  _ Song of the Sea _ . 

He was on the fourth variation and getting more comfortable in the simplicity of the style when Bucky appeared behind him. 

“I want your opinion on something,” he said. 

“Give me a sec,” Steve responded. “I want to finish this whale quick.” A few more strokes saw the deed done and he put down his pencil, spinning in his desk chair to find Bucky still waiting. “What do you need.” 

“For you to follow me and tell me what you think.” 

“You know I’m going to like whatever you’ve put together,” he said as he stood up. As he did, he realized he’d been sitting hunched over for the past four hours. He really needed to set a timer next him. 

Bucky just took his hand and led him to the dining room, where the paper sketch Steve had seen was no more. In its place was the physical representation of what that sketch had planned. 

“So, originally I wanted this to be a surprise,” Bucky said in Steve’s stunned silence. “But then I thought that maybe you should have a say because it’s going on the wall.” 

Bucky paused, waiting to see if Steve would respond. He still couldn’t. He was still trying to process what he was looking at. 

“Anyone who knows us thinks they know our story,” Bucky continued. “And sure, they know the beginning. They know how you became Captain America and I became the Soldier, but unless they saw Katie’s project, that’s all they know. I don’t really care what people know, but if people come into our house, I want them to know what’s happened since. When you got the shield back, the idea just grew, and this is what happened.” 

Bucky’s bottom lip was between his teeth. “So, what do you think?” 

Steve was still staring at the spread, still at a loss for words. 

The shield was the centerpiece yes, but it wasn’t the focal point. To it’s left was the self-portrait he’d done at Bucky’s request, the one that had helped him to actually start loving himself. To the right was the new painting Bucky had asked him to do. It was a larger recreation of Bucky’s favorite watercolor, the one of him in the garden with the multicolored arm. Surrounding all of that were photos of them. Some taken by Katie, others by Natasha or Sam, even a selfie or two. Them in the life they’d created.

“Buck,” he finally managed to whisper. 

“Is that a you like it?” 

Steve finally managed to pull himself away from the spread to look at Bucky, whose bottom lip was still between his teeth. He fully turned and placed his hands on Bucky’s arms. “It’s perfect. When are we putting it up?”

“Really?” 

“Yes. Are we doing it now? I need a break from art.” 

Bucky kissed him quickly. “Do you like how I arranged the photos? There wasn’t really a rhyme or reason to how I placed them, so we can move them around if you think there’s a better way.” 

Steve rubbed his hands up and down Bucky’s arms to get him to breathe. “I’m happy with it if you are.” 

Bucky nodded. “I’ll go get the tools.” 

They spent the next few hours translating the spread from the dining room table to the living room floor, and then to the living room wall. On multiple occasions, Steve grew so distracted at the sight of Bucky with a hammer in hand and nails in his mouth that Bucky needed to throw a pillow at his head. After those moments, Steve would sheepishly hand him the next photo. 

They ended the night dancing. 

Steve couldn’t remember being happier, but what else could he be when he was with the man he loved more than anything else in the house they’d created together? 

*** 

Bucky came home Friday afternoon unable to wipe the smile off his face. He had a multitude of surprises for Steve. Assuming Steve continued to function after the first, Bucky knew the second would reduce him to tears. But first things first, Bucky went into their room, shoved his newly acquired package in his bedside drawer, and then went into the kitchen. 

Even if Steve didn’t remember asking the question, Bucky had promised Steve his favorite meal and wine. He’d also promised that Steve’s art would be on the wall, and that they’d have a king-sized bed. Bucky’s actual execution might not be how he’d originally planned, but it would be close enough. So, Bucky put in his headphones and started making Irish stew, fresh bread, and apple cake. 

At one point, Steve came home, kissed his cheek and went into the basement after changing clothes. When the cake was out of the oven, the bread was cooling on a rack, and the stew was simmering on low, Bucky changed his clothes as well and followed Steve into the basement, where he found him lifting weights. Forcing his grin away, Bucky walked past Steve, and very carefully started to gather his hair into a bun. There was a noise like someone choking and the thud of weights hitting the ground. 

Three hours ago, Bucky had walked out of a salon with an undercut, and Steve was seeing it for the first time. When he finished tying his hair up, revealing the buzzed section, he turned around and tried not to laugh at Steve’s face. It was the most pathetic mug Bucky had ever seen. His eyes were huge, and his mouth was all but in a perfect ‘O’. He seemed to have forgotten how to speak, or think. 

(Steve was currently having a very understandable gay panic. Currently, his brain was empty. It had completely short circuited. However, if he had been able to create thoughts, they would’ve gone something like this: Bucky-hair-pretty-fuck-hot-pretty-Bucky-gay? Fuck-what? Hair? Bucky?)

“You good there, Stevie?” Bucky finally asked. 

Steve just blinked and walked slowly forward. His hand reached out, touching the short hair at the nape of his neck. And then he started to cry. Nothing big, but his eyes welled. 

“Steve, you okay?” Bucky asked, gentler this time. He’d expected the short-circuiting, but not the tears. Not yet, at least. 

“You changed your hair,” he blubbered. “I didn’t know you were there yet.” He continued the soft petting almost reverently. 

“I woke up this morning and I was. I didn’t want to get rid of all of it because it means so much more than what Hydra had made it, but I needed something new. Do you like it?” 

“I’m so proud of you,” Steve whispered instead and pressed his lips very softly against Bucky’s. 

“You never answered me,” Bucky said later. He was propped up on his elbow, his free hand on Steve’s bare chest. The workout had since been abandoned and they were laying in bed. “Do you like it?” 

“Very much so,” Steve murmured, one hand running through Bucky’s hair. “It fits you. I, uh, I think my first reaction told you just how good you look.” 

“And what was this?” Bucky asked with a cheeky grin, running his fingers back and forth over Steve’s chest. “Dessert?” 

Steve shrugged the best he could laying down. There was a faint flush on his cheeks. “When you’re lucky enough to be in love with Bucky Barnes, sometimes you need to have dessert before dinner.” 

“Which reminds me, I need to go check on the stew.” He leaned down, pressed one last kiss to Steve’s lips, and then got out of bed, pulling on his sweatpants from where they’d been tossed onto the floor. 

“Still hate to see you go, but the view is so worth it,” Steve called from where he was still laying in the mess of covers. 

Bucky blew him a kiss, which Steve caught and pressed to his heart. Rolling his eyes, Bucky walked into the kitchen and stirred the beef stew. A few more minutes of simmering and it would be good to go. Just enough time for them to shower and for Bucky to put the final pieces into place. 

“To moving forward,” Bucky said, holding up his wine glass. Steve clinked his and they drank together. 

“What’s with the set up?” Steve asked. 

Bucky had set the table with a tablecloth and candles. He was just now realizing he’d forgotten to pick up Steve’s favorite flowers. “Can’t a guy just want to have a nice dinner with his almost-fiancé?” he asked in return. 

Steve took a bite of stew and seemed to almost melt into his chair. His eyes closed and his face softened and he all but moaned. “I honest to god think you might have Ma beat, Buck.” 

“I won’t take that, Steve. Even if it is, I won’t disrespect Ma Rogers in that way.” 

Steve smiled and went back to his stew. 

Bucky waited until he’d swallowed to ask his next question. “What would your ma say if she were still here? Would she be okay with this? With us?”

Steve put his spoon down, a sure sign that he was going to answer in earnest. “Ma would be thrilled, Buck. She already knew. I mean, she had to’ve. If she were here, she would’ve slapped me on the side of the head when I was too stupid to see what was right in front of me. She and Nat would’ve had bets on how long it took us.” He took Bucky’s hand, rubbing his knuckles with his thumb. “Yeah. She would’ve been so happy to finally have you as her son. But even then, you already as good as much were.” 

With that blessing, Bucky’s last bit of anxiousness disappeared. Content, he went back to his stew. Steve gave his hand one last squeeze and continued eating as well, breaking the momentary silence with another happy groan. 

“Hey, Stevie? I’ve been thinkin’,” Bucky asked. It was an hour or so later. The dishes had been completed, and Steve had since moved his sketching to the dining room table in an attempt to get just a bit more work done. Bucky had been sitting across from him, waiting for the right moment. When his nerves started up again, he’d gotten upend grabbed his package from his bedside drawer. He was now standing behind Steve. 

“Hmmm?” Steve didn’t look up from his work. 

“I’m tired of bein’ your almost fiancé.”

Steve still didn’t look up. “Is this you asking me to marry you?” he asked in a nonchalant tone.

“So what if it is?” Bucky clutched the box in his hand so tightly he thought it would break. 

“Then do it proper or it’s no go.” Bucky could barely see the cheeky smile on Steve’s face. 

“So you’re telling me that unless I get down on one knee,” (Bucky slowly lowered himself down), “and pull out a velvet box with a ring in it,” (he opened the box, exposing the golden ring inside) “that you won’t agree to marry me?” 

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.” 

“Then do us both a favor and turn around.”

If Bucky had planned just a bit more in advance, he would’ve set up a camera someplace to record the moment. But even without it, Bucky knew he would never forget how Steve had almost frozen in his chair and then turned so slowly it was like he’d forgotten how to move. He would never forget how tears had instantly sprung to his eyes, or how his hand moved to his mouth before Bucky could even start. 

With confidence come only from the nighttime Gaelic lessons on the couch, Bucky began. “Steve,  _ is breá liom tú.  _ I’ve loved you my entire life _ .  _ For a while, I thought that would be enough. I thought waking up to you, to your smile, to your laugh, would be enough. But I want more. After everything we’ve gone through together, I want to stand in front of all our friends and promise that I’ll always stand by your side, the way I promised you after your Ma’s funeral, the way you promised on the helicarrier. I never want you to doubt just how much I love you. I never want to spend another day without something tying me to you. I want you to be my husband. So, Steven Grant Rogers,  _ An bpósfaidh tú mé?” _

Steve was crying so hard he could barely get the words out. “Tá. Yes. Yes. Put the fucking ring on my finger.”

Grinning so hard he knew his cheeks would perpetually hurt, Bucky pulled the ring from the box and slipped it on Steve’s hand. Steve’s arms were around Bucky’s neck before he could do anything else. And then Bucky was kissing his fiancé. He wiped Steve’s tears away and kissed him and nothing else mattered. At least, until Steve disappeared for a second and came back with a box of his own. He didn’t bother getting on one knee. He didn’t bother saying anything. He simply took out the ring, grabbed Bucky’s left hand, and slipped the ring on his finger. 

“I don’t even get a question?” Bucky asked, still grinning. “What happened to ‘do it proper or it’s no go?” 

“I already proposed,” Steve reminded him. “Not my fault you denied. But if you want...” Steve started to take the ring from Bucky’s finger. Bucky snatched his hand back. 

“What, you’re going to put a ring on my finger and then just take it back? That’s low, even for you, Rogers.” 

Steve just chuckled, still grinning. He was almost glowing. And Bucky couldn’t prevent himself anymore. He needed a picture. He needed this moment to last forever. Plus, Natasha would kill him if she didn’t get the proof. 

After it was taken, Bucky pulled Steve into the living room. He’d prepped it earlier, so everything was lit only by the lights strung around the ceiling. Perry Como's  _ Can't Help Falling in Love _ was playing on the record player. He pulled Steve against his chest. 

“Dance with me, Fiancé,” he whispered. 

“Always, Fiancé,” Steve whispered back. 

“Do something for me, Fiancé,” Bucky whispered a bit later. He was completely drunk on happiness. 

“Anything, Financé.” 

“Kiss me.” 

And Steve did. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What, you didn't think I'd let them be unhappy forever, right? Also, Bucky's entire speech was in Gaelic, I just didn't want to google translate and have it be completely incorrect.
> 
> Chapter Soundtrack: The Prom
> 
> Some additions that are necessary for you to know, but I have nowhere to put them: 
> 
> -Steve calls Bucky ‘Fiancé’ all the time   
-He has this little happy smirk whenever he says it and no matter how much Bucky grumbles about “how he has a name” he doesn’t care  
-in fact it’s the happiest he’s ever been   
-Sam and Natasha assume Steve is just peacocking whenever they’re around because it gets said a lot, but one day when Steve is out of the room Bucky tells them “it’s been going on since I proposed”  
-Bucky can’t wait until they’re married so Steve can call him Husband instead 
> 
> Also, you deserve the story of how Bucky got an undercut. I'm in bed, journaling, not thinking about anything I'm writing, but instead on my great love, Bucky Barnes. Roomie walks into our room and I say, "what haircut should Bucky get?" After throwing out some ideas, she goes, "just give him an undercut." And then I went to Pinterest.   
And, uh. I had a gay panic. Women with undercuts are really, really pretty. So, uh. Yeah. Bucky has an undercut because I had a gay panic.   
The next morning, the gay panic is continuing because women with undercuts exist. And I start thinking about wanting an undercut myself. Roomie is an enabler, but I also give her the occasional gay panic herself, so it's a balanced relationship. She has clippers on hand because back when she was "straight" she decided she wanted to give herself a buzz cut. So about an hour before my dad picked me up for Christmas, we ran up to our bathroom and she gave me an undercut. 
> 
> Happy Monday, and happy holidays. Whatever you celebrate, I hope you can have a beautiful time with family or friends. Lots of love to you <3


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They’re just a couple of dudes being guys, just a couple of guys being dudes, just a couple of dudes being gay, Part 2. 
> 
> [Spotify Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0LduKCBgw7kx3PBTH0ygiL?si=OIaU7DfXTn6YqM_jdpQtiA)

Steve woke up on the morning of June 28th alone. Well, as alone as one could be with three dogs. There just wasn’t the soft snoring and gentle breath that he was used to waking up to. When he turned over, he wouldn’t see Bucky still asleep, hair spilled over his pillow, early morning sunlight sneaking from the cracks in the blinds and framing his face. He wouldn’t be able to wait for him to open his eyes and watch a sleepy smile lift his lips and then have him snake his arms around Steve and pull him close and go back to sleep. 

Bucky had spent the night at Natasha’s. Not by choice. As Bucky’s best woman, she’d taken him hostage to have a night of pampering at her apartment. (Steve had to say, he was a little jealous. Bucky had sent a few photos of him with a face mask before Natasha had confiscated his phone). 

Steve was positive the kidnapping had taken place because at one point early in their wedding planning, they’d told her they wanted to walk down the aisle together. Actually, they’d told her they didn’t really care about any wedding traditions. They wanted to start the day together and greet guests together and walk down the aisle together. Surely, if they were starting a new life together, they should do it together rather than separate, right? 

The only word to describe Natasha after that was insulted. She’d told them that she didn’t particularly care if they didn’t place stock in age-old wedding traditions because she did, and she wouldn’t have them seeing each other before they were at the altar. They tried arguing that they’d already been separated enough, but she wouldn’t hear it. Based on the minute expressions on her face, there was a deeper reason behind her protestations, but they both knew it wasn’t worth pushing. 

So, Steve was alone.

He stretched out his hand, smoothing it over the empty covers next to him. Even with three dogs snuggled up to him, the bed was too big without a second person. Without Bucky. Unconsciously, his thumb found his ring and rubbed it. (He always did that when he thought about his fiancé). 

He was getting married today. 

His toes curled at the thought, pure joy and excitement coursing through him. Today, he got to stand in front of his friends, both old and new, and tell his best friend how much he loved him. Today, he finally got to call Bucky his husband. More importantly, today he would become _ Bucky’s _husband. 

He was getting married today. 

When Steve was a kid, he’d never dreamed of this. After all, who would’ve wanted him—a chronically ill, disabled kid who fought everything and anything? Anyone who did desire him would’ve needed to have no other choice, or just be incredibly dumb. Or, just fall helplessly in love and not be able to do anything about it. Steve rubbed his ring again. 

Sam would be appalled to know that he was still in bed. Dreaming about getting married was not the same as getting ready to get married. That just meant he needed to get up, and excited as Steve was, as empty as the bed was without Bucky beside him, it was an awfully comfortable mattress. Plus, Eva had wormed her way beneath his arm and was sleeping with her head on his shoulder, Daisy had her head on his stomach, and Tulip lay draped across his legs. The only thing that actually pushed him into getting out of bed was what _ Natasha _would say should she know. Steve didn’t even want to know what time she’d gotten Bucky up to start getting ready. 

Steve also supposed it would be rather sad if he got married looking like he just woke up. Although, he knew it would just endear himself to Bucky even more.

He hadn’t told Bucky that he put together a wedding playlist for himself. With the help of Sam, Natasha, Katie, and even Dr. Scheinbaum, he’d crafted a list of songs that had had him dreaming about this day even more than usual. With it blasting, he jumped in the shower and sang along, quite loudly, to Dave Barnes’ _ Good Day for Marrying You. _ By the time Sam arrived at ten, he was dressed and as prepared as he could get by himself, and nearly bouncing in his excitement. 

“You know, you still have time to back out,” Sam said with a small grin as he let himself in and saw Steve dancing with Eva in the living room. 

“You know, I still have time to fire you as my best man,” Steve said in return. He hugged Sam, and Sam patted his back.

“Where are you going to find someone as talented and good looking as me to serve as your best man in four hours?” 

“Maybe I’ll just decide I don’t need one. You can sit in the grass and pout and I’ll do everything by myself.” 

They’d decided to get married in the backyard. Bucky’s flowers had been such an important part of his journey to this day, so Steve thought there was no better place to finally say ‘I do’. It was the only reason they’d waited so long. 

“You’re going to do your bow and your cufflinks by yourself?” Sam asked, eyebrows raised with incredulity. “I’ll gladly sit by and watch that. I’ll record it, send it to your husband to be, and make sure he still wants to go through with marrying an idiot. You know, maybe I’ll even put it on the internet and let people wonder why they trusted someone so incompetent with every day things save the world.” 

“You think you’re hilarious,” Steve said as he opened a small box on the mantle and took out the cufflinks. “Now shut up and do my cufflinks.” 

As an engagement gift, Sam and Natasha had purchased them a matching personalized set. The right was the star chart of the night Bucky had proposed. The left was the star chart for today. When Steve had first opened the box, he’d been speechless and on the verge of tears. Bucky had needed to thank them for the both of them. 

“Oh, I don’t think I’m hilarious, Steve. I know.” But he accepted the cufflinks anyway and set to work putting them on. “While I’m hard at work making you look good, do you need me to do your bow as well?” 

He said it with an eye roll and teasing smile, but his tone was genuine and warm and Steve was overcome with sudden fondness for his friend. There had been no reason for him to follow Steve into battle, but Steve would always be glad he had. 

“Thank you, Sam.” 

Sam just nodded and fitted the piece of fabric around Steve’s neck. With expert hands, he knotted it into a bow and adjusted it until it sat perfectly. 

“Thank you, Sam,” he said again. Sam waved him away, but Steve continued. “I don’t think I’ve ever thanked you for always being there for me. I know I didn’t always make it easy, I was reckless and in a bad place and-”

“Hey man, you don’t have to-” Sam started to say, but Steve wasn’t done. 

“I do have to, Sam, because you’re a big part of why I’m here today. You showed me what it was like to have a life outside of the fight. I know Bucky isn’t your favorite person-”

“Steve,” Sam said firmly, putting a hand on his arm and stopping Steve’s ramblings. “I’m happy for you. Yeah, I like taking the piss out of Barnes, but he makes it easy. If you think I don’t love how happy he makes you, you’re a damn fool.” 

“Just thank you,” Steve said again because he needed Sam to know just how grateful he was for the friendship and support throughout the years. “You being here through everything means a lot to me.” 

“You’re going to start crying before your wedding even starts, aren’t you?” 

Steve shrugged, embarrassed. He’d never been this emotional until Bucky had come back into his life and he hadn’t needed to hold everything back. 

“Well, I think you just need your socks, shoes, and jacket.” Sam brought the conversation back to the current moment. “Unless you’re wearing anything else.” 

“My watch. I think a pocket square also came with the tux, but lord forgive me if I don’t know how to properly fold that thing.” 

“Depends on how fancy you want it,” Sam told him, already grabbing the square of deep navy fabric. 

Before Steve had the chance to answer, there was a commotion at the front door. Three things happened at the same time: the dogs all started barking and jumped from their place on the couch, running and sliding to the front door; Natasha yelled “goddamnit, Barnes!”, and Bucky yelled, “it’s my life!”. Sam immediately grabbed Steve’s shoulders, steered him into their bedroom, and closed the door behind him. Steve suddenly found himself standing alone. Bewildered, he turned to face the door. 

“Let me in, Sam,” he heard Bucky say from the other side of the door. 

“Nope.” 

“Sam.” 

“No can do. Don’t you know it’s unlucky to see the groom before the wedding?” 

“I’m a reformed brainwashed assassin who fell from a moving train. I don’t think anything can be as unlucky as that.”

“And Natasha will murder me if I let you in that room,” Sam said. “You’ll see him in a few hours.”

“Please.” There was a desperate edge to Bucky’s voice. 

“Sam?” Steve said, his hand on the door handle. “If Bucky promises to stay on the other side of the door, can we at least talk?” 

“No one gives a damn about my safety,” he heard Sam mutter. There was a humorous note to it. “If Natasha moves to murder me, you have to admit this was your idea. I’m but an unwilling victim.” 

Steve heard Sam’s footsteps fade and he opened the door just enough to let his hand out. A second later, their fingers were twined and a current of anxiety Steve hadn’t even known he had died away. 

“You ready?” he asked, resting his head against the door. 

“Past ready,” Bucky responded. “What do you think Natasha would do if I opened this door?’ 

“Where is she right now?” 

“In the living room with Sam. She’s muttering and staring at me with narrowed eyes. I had to break out of her apartment this morning in order to get here. It was a daring escape made while she was in the bathroom.” 

“Then I think there would be a double murder of the grooms. Objectively, I think that would put quite a damper on the day.” 

Bucky grumbled. “You might have a point. Sam’s death I could deal with, but ours? Not a chance.” 

Steve smiled. “I love you.” 

“I love you.” 

Bucky’s voice was soft. Steve wanted nothing more than to open the door and kiss him, Natasha’s threat of killing them be damned. 

“When is Katie coming over again?” he asked to distract himself. 

“11:30.” 

An hour. They could wait an hour. Natasha had tried so hard to have their first look be at the altar, but they’d fought against that. Eventually, she’d conceded and they’d arranged for Katie to come early to take pictures. 

“We can make it until then,” Steve said, although he really didn’t want to. “I mean, we waited how long to actually tell each other how we felt?”

Bucky sighed. “I guess, but that’s an unfair comparison because we were too thick to see what was in front of us.” 

“Alright, time’s up. Steve, you’ll get to see your fiancé soon enough. Bucky, basement now so I can finish making you look acceptable.” 

It was impressive she’d given them this much time together. Sighing, Steve started to release Bucky’s hand. Bucky only tightened his hold. A moment later, lips brushed against his knuckles. He heard Natasha tap her foot. 

“I’ll see you soon,” Bucky said. “I love you.” 

“I love you,” Steve said back. His hand was released and then he was alone again. Sighing, he sat on his bed and waited for Sam. He spun the ring on his finger. Less than a minute later, the door opened again and Sam walked in. 

“I was half convinced there was going to be blood,” he said as he crossed the room and sat beside Steve. 

“Natasha’s all talk today. I think she wants us married more than we do. There’s no way she’s going to do anything that jeopardizes that.” 

Sam allowed him a moment and then clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Should we finish getting you ready?” 

Steve looked at his ring again. “Yeah. Yeah, we should.” 

***

“Damnit, Natasha, why won’t you let me have one minute with him?” Bucky asked as she followed him down into the basement, which was not suited at all for getting prepared for a wedding. In fact, it was a downright disgrace. Half of it served as their makeshift gym. The other half was littered with old furniture they still needed to figure out a plan for. 

“Because you’ll have plenty of time with him today and I’m living vicariously through you. I’ve already resigned myself to the fact that I’m probably never going to get married, so whatever traditional wedding things I can experience from yours, I’m going to take them.” 

She pushed him into the small bathroom and kicked him in the back of the knees to get him to crouch. Light fingers began to braid his hair back. 

“I thought you and Hill had something,” Bucky said. 

“We were drunk.” 

“What does that have to do with anything? You’re smart, witty, beautiful; anyone would be lucky to call you their wife.” 

“I’m an assassin, Bucky.” 

“Former.” 

“Still, no one is going to be able to look past that. I’m the Black Widow. That’s all I am to people.” 

Bucky watched her in the mirror. Her face was perfectly neutral, but he could tell by the way she focused on his hair that this bothered her. “Steve looked past everything I did. He loves me in spite of it.” 

“Yeah, well we all know Steve’s an idiot,” Natasha said. “Plus, you two were made for each other. That’s obvious enough. Like I said, I’m resigned to it.” 

She finished the braid and wrapped the tail into a bun on the crown of his head. As a finishing touch, she untucked some of the hair at his temple in order to frame his face. “There. Now you’re ready to get married.” 

Well, as soon as he put on his jacket and shoes, but that was beside the point. “Thank you, Nat.” 

She just nodded. 

An hour later found Bucky pacing back and forth along the length of their backyard. He’d spent the past few months making sure it was perfect for today. And it was. The garden was almost in full bloom. With Steve’s help, he’d built a pergola that covered the back half. Yesterday, they’d woven ivy and fairy lights between the slats in the roof, and hung stips of Edison bulbs beneath them. A simple, floral arch had been erected in the back. In less than three hours, he would stand there with Steve.

At the moment, however, he was waiting for Katie. He checked his watch again for what had to be the hundredth time that minute. She should’ve been here already. She should be here because then he could see Steve, and absolutely everything would be fine. Bucky understood Natasha’s want to live through their wedding, but he would never get the superstition of seeing your fiancé on your wedding day. 

“Well, don’t you look handsome!” Katie walked across the yard, her camera bag hanging from one shoulder. 

Bucky couldn’t help but grin at the sight of her. “I do clean up rather nicely, don’t I? How’s Nicholas?” He didn’t particularly want to slip into conversation, but he had to ask about his favorite nephew. 

“I didn’t think we’d be able to get him to bed last night. He wanted to keep practicing to make sure he wouldn’t trip and fall. What about you? How are you doing?” 

“I’d be fine if I could see my fiancé! But no, everyone keeps telling me that the sky will fall if we catch even a glimpse of each other before we’re at the altar.” 

Katie chuckled. “Is that your clever way of telling me to stop talking to you, take my camera out, and tell Sam that he can bring Steve out?” 

“Is it working?” 

“Perhaps.” 

She walked to the patio and set her bag down. Camera in hand, she took a few shots to get the lighting correct and then knocked on the back door, where Sam was waiting. Bucky watched as Sam nodded and disappeared. 

All at once, nerves curled in his stomach. Good nerves, but nerves nonetheless. Bucky closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. He focused on the fact that he would finally get to see Steve. There were a few clicks as Katie took more shots, but all Bucky could hear were the sets of footsteps getting closer. A few seconds later, he felt Steve’s back pressed against his. Automatically, he grasped for Steve’s hand. He could hear Steve’s breath, only barely controlled. Slowly, Bucky turned around and felt Steve do the same. 

In all Bucky’s dreams of this moment, he’d never expected himself to cry. He’d known Steve would, so it wasn’t surprising to see his eyes well when he saw Bucky dressed to the nines in a tux, but it took a lot for Bucky to reach tears. That didn’t matter today. 

As a kid, he’d always known he would get married. Not only was it something expected of him, it had been something he’d wanted for himself. Before he’d known he was in love with Steve, he pictured himself with some gal with a pretty face, someone who wanted a family as much as he did. When he’d known he was in love with Steve, he’d hoped that maybe it would be possible for them to marry in secret. Then came the war, the train, the Soldier. By the time Steve admitted his affections, Bucky had all but given up on this dream. After all, who would want to marry him? 

And now, Steve was standing in front of him, he was staring at Bucky like he hung the moon, his joy so radiant Bucky wouldn’t be surprised if it outshone the sun. Fitting, he thought, for what he was going to say in his vows. He only realized he was crying because Steve brushed his thumbs across his cheeks to wipe away his tears. 

“Hey,” he said quietly, “you okay?” 

Bucky nodded, brushing Steve’s own tears away. “I’m happy.”

Steve smiled, and it was the one Bucky loved the most. It was soft, and shy, and radiant, and meant for no one but him. “I love you so much.” 

“I love you.” Unable to hold back any longer, he kissed Steve and then pulled him into a crushing hug, burying his face into his neck. 

When Steve pulled away, his hand remained on the back of Bucky’s neck, fingers brushing the short hair. He’d done it so much since Bucky had cut it that he assumed it was an unconscious action. Bucky would never complain as it never failed to soothe him. 

“You look amazing,” Steve said. 

“You say that like it’s a surprise,” Bucky replied with a laugh. 

“No, just something I need to tell you everything I think it.” 

“Then you should be saying it a lot more.” 

Steve laughed and shook his head, a helpless smile turning up the corners of his lips. 

“You look good as well,” Bucky told him. 

“Oh, I only get to look good?” 

“Well, can’t have us both looking amazing now, can we? If I have to take the responsibility of being the most good looking, I will. It’s a hard burden, but one I’ll take on. I mean, isn’t that one of my jobs as your husband, to help carry the load?”

Steve snorted. “Oh, shut up.” 

Bucky grinned. “You only say that because you know it’s true.” 

“You’re insufferable.” 

“You’re the one that kept saying you wanted to marry me.” 

“I really, really do.” He still had that helpless smile on his face. Bucky traced it with his thumb. Steve leaned into the touch. 

“Is it time for us to remember that other people exist?” Steve asked quietly. “I know we’d planned on taking photos with Nat and Sam before the ceremony.” 

Bucky blinked. Once he’d seen Steve, he’d completely forgot they had an audience. “Are they dressed?” 

From what he remembered, Nat hadn’t been. She’d been too busy helping him. He didn’t remember if Sam was. Then again, Sam could take three years and never be satisfied.

“I’m sure they’d be ready soon if they’re not already. I’m not sure about you, but I genuinely could not tell you how long we’ve been standing here.” 

Bucky couldn’t either, but he didn’t particularly care. Besides, it was _ their _day. Sure, they had a scheduled time for their few guests to arrive, but surely they wouldn’t mind if the ceremony started late because they were too busy staring at the other to actually get married. 

When they finally did turn, it was like the entire world returned. Kids played a couple of houses down, a dog barked, cars passed by on the street. Katie lowered her camera. The only other person there was Nicholas, and he peered out from behind her legs. Maybe it hadn’t been as long as they’d thought. Or, maybe everyone else had just gotten tired of them ignoring the rest of the world. 

“Uncle Bucky!” Nicholas yelled when Bucky finally acknowledged him. He ran out from behind his sister’s legs and launched himself at him. Bucky caught him and swung him up into his arms. He was dressed in a suit of his own.

“Now don’t you just look fantastic,” he said as he settled Nicholas on his hip. Steve scoffed. Bucky ignored him. 

“I hadta be really careful this morning so I didn’t spill anything on me,” Nicholas said, his expression as serious as a seven-year-old could be.

“Well, I think it’s obvious you’re the best dressed here. Don’t know why Steve and I even tried.” 

Nicholas giggled. Bucky turned his head to catch the end of Steve’s exasperated smile and eye roll. He hoped Steve was ready for how little attention he would get from Bucky as soon as they had a kid. Especially if they had a daughter—she would be the apple of his eye. 

“Hey, Nick, come on over here,” Katie called. 

Bucky looked out to see that Sam and Natasha had made their way out into the backyard. Natasha was wearing a navy dress that matched both their pocket squares and Sam’s tie. Both of them looked amazing. Not a hard feat for Natasha, but certainly impressive for the bird. Bucky set Nicholas down and gave him a push. Steve took his hand again and kissed his cheek. 

They spent the next hour or so taking photos and having fun with each other. After the emotions of the first look, both of them found it hard to stay serious. But then again, unless they had to be serious, when were they? They spent more time trying to make each other laugh than actually take proper photos. They managed to get Natasha to laugh though, and Bucky was excited to have photographic evidence that the former assassin did have that ability. 

A quick lunch was had, and then it was time to fully set up the back yard. Soon enough, they were welcoming their guests. Dr. Scheinbaum was the first to arrive, and both Bucky and Steve gave her a hug when she walked into the house. When she saw the photo wall, she smiled. 

“I hope you know how happy that makes me,” she said. 

Steve smiled, slipping a hand around Bucky’s waist. “I think I have an idea.” 

She chuckled and walked into the backyard. Jen, Steve’s friend Megyn, and another young woman who Steve introduced as Lauren were the next to arrive. While Jen and Megyn stopped to chat for a few moments, Lauren made a beeline towards Daisy and Tulip, who were being surprisingly well behaved considering the amount of commotion the house was seeing. Then came Emma Bull and a few of Bucky’s work friends. Katie and Nicholas’ mother had also arrived and was busy talking with her children. 

When everyone was accounted for, Bucky drew Steve into their room and closed the door. It was the first time they’d truly been alone together today. Steve immediately wrapped his arms around Bucky and buried his face into his neck. 

“If I’d known a wedding was this much work, I would’ve suggested we just elope,” he said. 

Bucky chuckled. “No, you wouldn’t’ve. You’re a sucker for this kind of stuff. If anything, I would’ve been the one to suggest it.” 

“You ready?” Steve asked for the second time that day. 

“Past ready,” Bucky repeated. 

Steve bit his bottom lip. “Is it bad that I’m nervous?”

“I’d call you crazy if you weren’t. But I’ll be with you almost every step of the way holding your hands.” 

It would’ve been every step had Natasha allowed them to walk down the aisle together, but ever since their conversation this morning, Bucky understood her reasoning. Even though she was convinced she’d never walk down the aisle for her own wedding day, she’d arranged so she’d still be able to do it at least once in her life. 

There was a knock on their door before Natasha opened it. “It’s time,” she told them. 

“I’ll see you soon,” Bucky said, squeezing his hands. 

Steve took a deep breath and brushed a kiss to his cheek. Bucky followed Natasha out the door. Steve watched him leave and, for the second time that day, waited for Sam to collect him. He did less than a minute later. 

Another deep breath was had, and then it was time. 

***

Dr. Bridget Scheinbaum stood in the backyard of the two men she’d watched fall and learn how to fly over the last two years. When Steve had first asked her to be their officiant, she hadn’t had an answer. When Bucky asked her a few weeks later, she hadn’t been able to say no. 

This day had been a long time in the making. Ever since they had both admitted to her how much they loved the other, she’d wanted this. Their lives were so tangled up, it was the natural culmination of their journey. Before Steve had traveled to Ireland, she had wanted to sit them down in a joint session and have them talk, but that had felt like an abuse of her powers. Besides, she had wanted it to happen naturally. So, she’d sat through session after session of them pining and prayed for divine intervention. 

The change in both of them after they’d gotten together had been astounding. Small hurts were healed. Previous anxieties had been quelled. Fears of being unlovable were proved to be unfounded. Where before they’d been falling separately, they learned how to fly together. There had been a destination rather than the nebulous future. That destination was here. A bright, sunny June day in their beautiful garden in a house and a life they’d built together. It was almost impossible for her to express just how proud she was of them. 

Quiet music played from hidden speakers. Their guests talked quietly amongst themselves. A few butterflies landed on the lavender bush. 

The back door opened. As she and the rest of the guests turned their attention to the house, she noticed something in the window that made her grin. She didn’t remember exactly when it had happened, but in one session, Bucky had lovingly complained about how Sam kept hiding bird figurines around their house. They’d found as many as possible and hidden them away, but new ones always kept showing up. They never saw him do it. At least thirty of them were lined up along the back window to watch the ceremony. 

Nudged by a gentle hand, Eva and Aapeli walked side by side down the aisle with baskets of flower petals in their mouth. She, like everyone else, laughed and cooed at the sight. When they reached her at the arch, they both dropped the baskets in their excitement of recognizing her, scattering petals where the two men would soon stand. Flower girls, indeed. She ruffled their ears before someone called to them and they trotted away, tongues lolling. 

A young boy walked down the aisle next, holding a pillow with the rings. She didn’t recognize him by sight but knew from Bucky it had to be Nicholas. He wore a shy, but brilliant smile, like he still couldn’t believe he’d been asked to do this for his hero. When he reached her, he stood to the side. 

The music changed to an instrumental of _ Storybook Love_. Everybody stood to watch Bucky walk down the aisle, escorted by Natasha. They walked slowly but confidently. Bucky’s smile was the best thing Dr. Scheinbaum had ever seen. After everything he’d been through, after all his doubt and fear, she’d feared he’d never be this happy. Natasha hugged him when they reached the petal-strewn grass. 

“Thank you, Nat,” he whispered. “For everything.” 

“Of course,” she whispered back. “You deserve it.” 

She gave him one last smile, patted his shoulder, and went to stand by the side, where she took the rings from Nicholas. Before he went to sit with his mother, Bucky kneeled, and gave him a hug. 

“Uncle Bucky, you’re crying,” Nicholas said loudly. The guests laughed. 

Bucky chuckled. “It’s because I’m happy.” 

With that assurance, the boy scampered off and Bucky stood, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. Dr. Scheinbaum reached out and took his other hand. Bucky held it tightly. Together, they stood and waited. They didn’t have to wait long. Escorted by Sam, Steve walked through the yard. She watched Bucky’s face change from nervous excitement to a soft, goofy grin. 

Steve hugged Sam when they reached the arch.“Thank you, Sam,” he whispered.

“No thanks necessary,” Sam said back. He clapped Steve on the back and went to stand by Natasha. 

Dr. Scheinbaum took the hand that was in hers and placed it in Steve’s. Bucky nodded slightly to her in thanks and then turned his full attention to Steve, who was crying in earnest now. With a tenderness she’d always known him capable of, Bucky brushed away his tears. Steve trapped his hand on his cheek and pressed a kiss to his thumb. 

“You ready?” she asked them. Unable to speak, they both nodded. She’d spent a long time figuring out what she wanted to say. She wanted to pay homage to everything they’d worked through in their sessions without it turning into another one. With a deep breath, she pulled her gaze from them and turned it onto the guests. 

“Welcome, family, friends, and loved ones,” she began. “We are gathered here today, surrounded by the beauty of this garden and nurtured by the love we can already see, to celebrate the wedding of Steve and Bucky. You have come from near and far to share in this commitment they now make to each other, to offer your love and support to their union, and to allow them to start their married life together surrounded by the people most important to them. 

“Steve and Bucky thank you for your presence here today. They ask for your blessing, encouragement, and continued support. They also remember other loved ones who are unable to be here to share this moment.” 

One of Steve’s hands went to his chest, where she knew he wore his mother’s ring on a chain. Bucky squeezed his other hand and nodded. _ She’s here, _ the look seemed to say, _ she’s always here. _Steve swallowed and nodded back, moving his hand from his heart to retake Bucky’s. 

“Steve, Bucky.” They looked at her. “Marriage is the promise between two people who love each other, who trust that love, who honor one another as individuals in that togetherness, and who wish to spend the rest of their lives together. It enables the two separate souls to share their desires, longings, dreams, and memories, their joys, sorrows, and fears, and to help each other through all uncertainties of life. 

“A strong marriage also nurtures each of you as separate individuals and allows you to maintain your unique identity and grow in your own way through all the years ahead. It is a safe haven for each of you to become your best self.

“You are adding to your life not only the affection of each other but also the companionship and blessing of a deep trust. You are agreeing to share your strength, responsibilities, and love, but know it takes more than love to make this relationship work. It takes trust to know in your hearts that you want only the best for each other. It takes dedication to stay open to one another, to learn and grow, even when it is difficult to do so. It takes faith to go forward together without knowing what the future holds for you both.” 

They both nodded. They understood what she was talking about. 

“We now come to the words Steve and Bucky, and probably most of us, want to hear the most today...the words that take them across the threshold from being engaged to being married.” 

They smiled sheepishly. She allowed herself a chuckle before continuing. 

“A marriage, as most of us understand it in this age, is a voluntary and full commitment. It is entered into with the desire and hope that it will last for life. It’s a promise to stand by each other’s side no matter the storm. Before you declare your vows to one other, I want to hear you confirm that it is indeed your intention to be married today and make this promise.

“Bucky, do you come here freely and without reservation to give yourself to Steve in marriage? If so, answer ‘I do.’” 

Bucky looked at Steve. He wasn’t smiling anymore, but no one could deny the amount of love and sincerity in his voice. “I do.” 

“Steve, do you come here freely and without reservation to give yourself to Bucky in marriage? If so, answer ‘I do.’” 

Steve barely allowed her to finish before saying, “I do,” his voice cracking with emotion. It was the surest she’d ever heard him sound.

“As your therapist, those words bring me so much joy. As your friend, I can’t begin to express how happy I am. Now, I ask you to declare your vows.” 

***

It was like earlier that morning when they’d been doing their first look. Bucky had known there was someone watching and taking pictures, but he hadn’t seen them. There had been no one but Steve. There had never been anyone but Steve. 

His right hand was sweating, and in realizing that, he forgot everything he had planned to say. He should’ve written it down. Steve stared at him, steady and true, and Bucky found himself remembering one small moment of them sitting on Steve’s old bed where Steve had simply asked Bucky to talk to him. He could do that. 

“Stevie,” he whispered, his voice catching. He cleared his throat and tried again. “There’s so much I haven’t told you about my time in the war, both before and after I became the Soldier. I can remember the way you looked at me before I told you I enlisted, like an equal, someone you trusted with your whole life, and I knew how rare that was for you, and I couldn’t bear to have your perception of me change.” 

Steve wasn’t smiling anymore, but oh, _ god_, the way he stared at him. Bucky’s mouth was dry. “I remember sitting in the trenches, soaked to the bone, explosions in my ears, terrified that I would never be able to tell you I loved you. It’s funny, sitting there, I could never believe you didn’t love me back. It might’ve been because I was convinced I was going to die and I needed something to hold on to.” 

His right hand was too sweaty now. He redoubled his hold on Steve’s arms instead. With the way Steve held him, Bucky would be surprised if he ever fell again.

“I remember sitting alone in my cell years after I fell, desperately trying to cling to who I was, and even after I’d lost everything else, I had you. The thought of you kept me sane, and even after the Soldier was there, you were always the first thing I remembered. The ocean of your eyes, the sun of your hair, your voice saying my name. I didn’t know you, but I had you. I always had you.” 

Bucky took a shaky breath, not knowing how he was going to continue but needing to. There was so much he needed to say. Steve gently brushed away the tears that had started to fall, his fingers soft against Bucky’s cheek. His voice was so inconsistent he didn’t know if anyone but Steve could hear him, but that was okay by him. These words weren’t meant for anyone else. 

“There’s this one thing I always wanted to tell you. I don’t know if I’ve been too embarrassed, or if a part of me always hoped I’d be able to tell you like this. When I was living alone in Romania, desperately trying to remember my life, there was one night where I prayed for just a little streak of yellow paint. It might have been my way of trying to remember you. I thought that maybe if I had just a little bit of paint, I’d be able to paint myself a sunrise.”

Steve was crying now, too. The tears fell steadily down his cheeks. Bucky couldn’t move to wipe them away. He couldn’t do anything that would change this moment.

“You know things haven’t been easy. After you asked me to move in with you, I didn’t know how it would work. I was-well, you know how I was. I was moody and silent and I ran away more than I’d like to admit. Every day, I thought you would leave. Every day, you told me you wouldn’t. Every night, I prayed for yellow. I prayed for a sunrise because I was drowning in the dark.”

Bucky stopped talking now for just a minute in order to just stare at Steve. His face was devastatingly beautiful, tear-stained and sad and joyful. Bucky was struck again with the wonder that he was the recipient of the emotion in his eyes; that awe and wonder, like he was the best thing Steve had ever beheld. As much bad as he’d done in his days, he must have done something right in order to be loved like this. 

He gripped Steve tighter. “I don’t know how long it took for me to realize that you are my sunrise, Steve. You’ve always been my sunrise. So just marry me already, Stevie. I know I was the one who made us wait, but just marry me already.” 

***

Steve didn’t care that it was still the middle of the ceremony and that if they wanted to go about it properly, he would wait to kiss him. But Bucky was staring at him, his heart in his eyes and Steve couldn’t stop himself. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to Bucky’s and was set aflame with how much he loved this man. Bucky might have named him as the sun, but Bucky was the flame that had refused to die. 

He rested his forehead against Bucky’s after their lips parted and just barely heard him whisper, “I love you.” 

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to follow that, Buck,” he murmured. 

Bucky finally smiled again. “You’ll figure it out.” 

Steve kissed him softly again and then pulled back. “The day I realized I wanted to marry you, Nat said something interesting to me. She told me there had always been this heaviness about me. I tried denying that, but I couldn’t. And it made sense, everything I’d gone through since the war. The ice, waking up, realizing everyone I knew and loved was gone. But as I was thinking about it, I realized it wasn’t just that because I was like that my entire life. Except for when I was around you. 

“Apart from Ma and Pegs, you were the only one who ever saw anything in me. You were the only one who didn’t treat me any different because of how I was. I didn’t have to be anyone. I didn’t know how much I needed that until I didn’t have it. People think I joined the war because I wanted to keep fighting, and that is true. It’s the reason I told myself because I was too scared to think of the other reason. That, or because I was scared to die.” 

Bucky stared at him, his eyebrows furrowed slightly. It was an expression Steve was deeply acquainted with. Sometimes, when the lines between them got deep enough, he would press a kiss there to make him laugh. 

“Buck, I joined the war because I couldn’t stand who I was without you by my side. It’s the reason I want to marry you. I’ve lived in a world where you’re not part of my life and I can’t recognize myself. You’re the reason I’m who I am today. 

“I’m not ashamed to admit that I can’t live without you, because I’ve tried. The days still pass, and I can go through the motions, but- When I first proposed, I told you I’d started smiling and laughing again. I told you that at one point of us living together, I’d started to look forward to what the future held. You’re my reason, Buck.

“But, um, there’s another thing. At one point of us living together again, I stopped being angry.” 

The furrow between Bucky’s brows grew deeper.

“I used to be so angry at the world for making me the way I was, but I came to realize, slowly and with a lot of help, that all of it was a blessing. If I hadn’t been the way I was when I met you...You helped me realize that the world could be kind and generous.” 

Steve swallowed and readjusted his grip. The furrow between Bucky’s brows continued to grow deeper. 

“I’ve always been someone who has cared way too much about what people think of me. But at some point of being loved by you, I realized that it doesn’t matter what the world thinks of me because I have you, and you are my world. So don’t make me wait any longer to be your husband.” 

And because Steve didn’t know what else to do with himself and the furrow was still there, he kissed it. As soon as his lips were against Bucky’s skin, Bucky barked a laugh, and all the tension melted away. 

“I told you you’d figure it out,” Bucky murmured. 

“With you? Always.” 

Bucky chuckled again and Steve felt his own smile grow. It was only because he saw Natasha out of the corner of his eye that he remembered there was still more to the ceremony. She’d moved to stand across from Dr. Scheinbaum, their rings in her hand. If Steve wasn’t seeing things, she had tears in her eyes. 

“Your wedding rings are the outward and visible sign of the inward and invisible bond which already unites your two hearts,” Dr. Scheinbaum had started to say. Steve snapped back to attention. “Bucky, place the ring on Steve’s finger and repeat after me.” 

With a steady gaze, steady hand, and steady voice, Bucky slipped the ring on Steve’s finger and repeated, “Stevie, I give you this ring. Wear it with love and joy. As this ring has no end, my love is also forever.” 

Steve wished he was as steady as Bucky. Vision hazed with tears, he slipped the ring onto Bucky’s finger and repeated with a shaking voice, “Buck, I give you this ring. Wear it with love and joy. As this ring has no end, my love is also forever.” 

“Steve, Bucky?” Dr. Scheinbaum said. Together, they turned to look at her. For the first time since he’d started to see her, Steve was positive he’d finally made her happy. There were tears in her eyes and her smile was wide.

“By the power vested to me by the internet, it is my greatest pleasure to pronounce you as husbands. You may seal your vows with a kiss.” 

Not needing any more prompting, Steve pulled his husband forward and kissed him. 

***

Steve was his husband. It was official now. 

As soon as the ceremony was finished, Bucky had pulled Steve into their room again in order to simply be alone. Steve had wrapped him in a tight hug the moment the door closed, his face buried in his neck. A few shuddering breaths went through him, and Bucky felt wetness against his skin, but when they finally broke the hug moments or hours later, there was nothing but happiness on Steve’s face. 

For a second, they just looked at each other. And then they started to laugh. For Bucky, it started as an amazed chuckle, born from the long held belief that this moment would never be possible. But as he looked into his husband’s face (_ husband!)_, it morphed into a sound of pure joy. 

In all his life, Bucky could only point to four moments that he experienced pure joy. The first had been in 1938. A warm summer day, not unlike this one, where he and Steve had just wandered the city without a care in the world, and Bucky remembered thinking that there couldn’t be anything better. The second had been when Steve had told Bucky he loved him. The third when Steve had agreed to marry him. And now. 

“Hi, husband,” Bucky whispered. He didn’t think that it was possible for Steve’s face to grow even more joyful, but he was wrong. It was the new excitement of finally being called something you’d been longing to be called. 

“Hi, husband,” Steve whispered back. 

The same joy that was shown on Steve’s face uncurled itself in Bucky’s stomach. _ Husband_. Not friend, not partner, or lover, or best guy. Nothing that could be mistaken as anything else. _ Husband_. 

“We should probably go back out,” Bucky said. “If we’re alone any longer, they’ll probably think we’re necking.” 

“Let them,” Steve said. “Besides, they don’t need us yet. The backyard has to be set up and you know Natasha said she’d take care of everything. She’ll come and get us when the reception starts.” 

They spent at least thirty minutes alone in their room, sometimes speaking, often not. They’d already said everything that needed to be said. Content to just be with his husband, Bucky laid on his back at one point and Steve rested his head over his heart. Their fingers twined. 

A knock on the door a few minutes later was the only reason Bucky didn’t doze. Steve, as always, was another story. Even though it had only been a few minutes, his hair had somehow grown disheveled. 

“We’ll be out in a sec,” Steve called. 

“Now they’re really going to think we were necking,” Bucky said with a laugh. He raked his fingers through Steve’s hair in an attempt to fix it. 

“No matter what we say, Sam will be convinced.” He also ran a hand through his hair. 

The knock came again. “We’re coming!” He turned to Steve. “You ready?” 

“I just married you. I’m ready for anything.” 

Bucky couldn’t stop the smile from growing on his face and he pressed his lips to Steve’s. The knock came for the third time. Steve sighed, took Bucky’s hand, and together they walked out into the party. 

***

The backyard had been set up with a large table, allowing for everyone to sit together. Even though he’d wanted to, Steve had refused to let Bucky cook his own wedding meal, so they’d catered from his favorite Italian restaurant instead. They ate and talked and laughed as the sun slowly sank lower in the sky. 

Eva and Aapeli lay at their owner’s feet, while Tulip and Daisy looked around for easy food. They found a friend in Nicholas, who at one point left the table and ran around the yard with them in pursuit. Steve caught Bucky watching the young boy with a wistful look in his eye. Steve brushed a kiss to his knuckles, and when Bucky looked at him, he nodded. One day it would be their kid. Bucky gave him a small smile and kissed him. 

Even after the meal had ended, they stayed at the table, enjoying the conversation and company of each other. Steve learned that Jen, Megyn, and Lauren were college friends that had since moved in together. They’d teased him and Bucky for not making the connection while addressing the invitations but gave them grace as they’d handed them out at work and school. Katie had been offered a job with the New York Times that she was in the process of finalizing. Emma Bull, in addition to making music and art, was giving her hand in writing as well and gave them all a full rundown on the book she was writing. 

By the time dusk had fallen and the sky was a beautiful purple-blue, they decided that it was probably a good time to give speeches. Sam was already slightly drunk. He stood from where he was seated next to Steve, wobbled, and then sat again. Steve saw Bucky smother a grin and brushed a kiss to the hand that was already in his. 

“Steve, when we first met, I was convinced you were interested in me. After all, why else would you run the same strange winding run around the National Monuments that I did?” 

Steve raised his eyebrows and suppressed a laugh of his own. He heard Bucky snort. 

“I started to worry that I was going to have to let Captain America down because even though I respected the hell out of him, I didn’t swing that way. I was extremely flattered though. It’s validating to think that both genders find me attractive. _ Fuck! _” Natasha had kicked him under the table. 

Steve and Bucky were laughing. 

Throwing a dirty look at Natasha, Sam continued. “It took about two seconds of actually knowing you to realize that even if I did swing that way, I had absolutely zero chance. You were in love with someone else, even though at that time, you were convinced he was dead.” A look of dreamy concentration crossed Sam’s face. “If you hadn’t been in love with Bucky, would you have given me a chance? _ Fucking Christ_, Natasha, it’s just a question, will you stop kicking me? If you don’t want me to speak from the heart, maybe you shouldn’t spike my already alcoholic drink. Don’t think I didn’t notice that vodka aftertaste. I learned.” 

Bucky was wiping tears from his eyes, his laughter nearly silent. Natasha’s right eyebrow arched in a question that clearly said _who, me? _

Steve stopped himself from laughing long enough to say, “Sam, there are young children present.” 

Indeed, Nicholas’ mother had placed her hands over his ears and scowled at Sam while Nicholas tried to duck away from her. Sam glanced in their direction and then looked back at Steve, his eyebrow cocked. 

“You don’t think he’s heard your language, Steven? You have the worst mouth out of anyone I know. Anyway, you were in love with Bucky. And then who’da guessed it? He showed up. Ripped the steering wheel out of my brand new car, shot at us, attacked you with a knife, and then nearly shot you again. You know, I’d think those were some red flags, but I’ll give the guy a break because he was brainwashed or something.”

“Thanks, Sam, I really appreciate that,” Bucky said in a deadpan. 

Sam nodded good-naturedly. “We spent god knows how long trying to track the fucker down, and then you broke into his apartment, broke a treaty that had just been ratified by the United Nations, and a bunch of other shit happened. But finally, you moved in together, and no matter how much it might’ve seemed like I wasn’t a fan of the guy, I couldn’t be upset at how much more alive you were. 

“It took you a goddamn while to finally act on your feelings, and I was about this close to pushing your faces together, but you finally got there. And I’m really happy for the both of you. You’ve both been through shit, and you deserve this. And I’m going to stop talking before I say more things I’m kicked for.” 

Sam nodded in a decisive manner, and true to his word, didn’t say anything else. Bucky was still laughing silently. 

“Thanks, Sam,” Steve said for the both of them, “that means a lot.” 

Natasha leaned back in her chair and considered the two of them while sipping her wine. Steve felt uncomfortably like she was sizing them up for interrogation. Bucky brushed his lips against his knuckles. She finally set her glass down. 

“Don’t expect me to repeat any of this because I’m only saying it once,” she warned. 

Steve saw a flash of light under the table. When he looked down, he saw Bucky’s phone on his knee, recording. Natasha was now looking directly at Steve. 

“I was worried about you for the longest time, Steve. I had my doubts that you would adjust to this world, and I had no idea if I would ever see you happy. Your entire life was entrenched in the fight, you routinely failed to take care of yourself, and your attempts to isolate yourself were impressive.” She turned her gaze to Bucky. “Barnes, we’ve had our differences. You trained me, all those years ago.” 

Steve felt Bucky stiffen and rubbed his thumb over his knuckles. 

“I’m not saying this to bring back old trauma,” Natasha said quietly. “I’m saying this to thank you.” 

Bucky relaxed slightly. Steve continued to rub his thumb over his knuckles. 

“It hasn’t been all shits and giggles, but everything you taught me has kept me alive. And if I weren’t alive, I wouldn’t be part of this family. I wouldn’t be sitting here, celebrating the wedding of two of my best friends. But this isn’t about me—it’s about you two.

“Steve, when you first talked about Bucky in that van, I wanted to tell you it wasn’t worth treading down that path. I knew how dark it was. But a, I’d been shot and was in the process of slowly bleeding out, and b, I saw the look in your eyes when you said his name. It was like you’d been drowning and you’d been thrown a line. It was the look of someone who’d been lost for so long and had just been shown the light. 

“But there was another reason, too. I was conflicted about this feeling for so long, Bucky, but when I was a little girl, I always hoped you would have a happy ending. When Steve said your name in that van after he first encountered you as the Soldier, I was that little girl again. I knew he was your happy ending. 

“Neither of you has had the easiest lives, I don’t think that has to be said. But what does need to be said is that you’re a matched set, I think that’s clear to anyone who has the honor to witness your relationship. Whatever you want to call yourselves, star-crossed, soulmates, whatever, it’s clear that you two were made for the other, and-” 

She broke off, her brows furrowed. Steve couldn’t remember a time he’d ever seen Natasha at a loss for words. “This morning, I told Bucky I had resigned myself to the fact that I would probably never get married. My past is complicated and I make myself hard to like to protect myself. But seeing you two sitting here, even after everything you’ve gone through, even after everything you’d been forced to do, after everything you’d been forced to become, makes me think that maybe it’s possible. But no matter my future, I’m so excited to see where yours leads. You two deserve all the happiness this world has to offer.” 

She finished speaking and took another sip of wine. Steve saw Bucky end the recording and slip the phone back into his pocket. 

“Thank you, Nat,” Bucky said. Natasha nodded. 

A few others at the table offered their own words of congratulations. After one point, Bucky cut them off. 

“Look, I love hearing you say great things about me and my husband, but there were only two things I was looking forward to today. Getting to call him my husband, and then dancing with my husband, so if you’ll excuse us.” 

Bucky pulled Steve to his feet and hauled him back under the pergola, laughter following them. Moths fluttered around the lightbulbs. A soft breeze rustled the ivy above their heads. Natasha had hidden speakers on the beams of the roof. Until now, they’d been playing soft instrumentals. 

It had been quite the discussion of which song they would play for their first dance. Steve had wanted Frank Sinatra’s _ Love Me Tender_. Bucky had wanted to commemorate the night they’d gotten engaged with _ Can’t Help Falling in Love_. Calum Scott’s _ You Are the Reason_, and Ray Erble’s _ The Nearness of You _were also considered. It had only been when they’d sat down one night to watch Robin Hood that they’d had the answer. 

Holding each other close, they danced to Nancy Adam’s _ Love_. Bucky spun him once. Laughing, Steve landed back in his arms. 

Lips close to his ear, Steve quietly sang, “Love will live, love will last, love goes on and on.” 

They did end up dancing to all the songs they had debated about. They hadn’t told anyone else about them, but Natasha had them all on a playlist anyway. At one point during _ Love Me Tender_, Bucky looked at him with so much love in his eyes, Steve started to cry. Rolling his eyes, Bucky wiped them away and kissed him. 

“I love you,” he whispered when their lips parted. 

“I love you, too,” Steve whispered back and kissed him again. 

When Steve was little, his ma had always told him that the only difference between falling and flying was the way you looked at it. Looking into his husband’s eyes, Steve didn’t think he would ever fall again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- They don’t have a wedding cake. Rather, they have cupcakes. Vanilla with yellow frosting  
\- In his drunken state, Sam insisted he dance with both of them. Natasha caught all of it on camera. It now has more views on YouTube than his Twilight Recreation  
\- Bucky’s dance with Natasha is one of the most elegant things of the evening. They waltz to Shostakovich’s -Second Waltz. Steve promises himself he will ask Natasha to teach him.   
\- At the end of the night, they turn on some swing. Steve surprises everyone but Bucky at how well he can lindy. The proudest moment of Bucky’s marriage is when they successfully jive.   
\- Bucky and Steve never mention the bird figurines in the window. They noticed them, of course, but never said anything to let Sam know. Sam desperately wanted to say something, but didn’t want to admit he set them up.   
\- When Sam and Natasha finally left, Steve and Bucky stayed outside a little bit longer and continued to dance.   
\- They went to Ireland for their honeymoon and spent two weeks exploring the island. Steve had proud husband moments everytime Bucky held a successful conversation in Gaelic   
\- At the end of the two weeks, they decide they don’t particularly want this vacation to end, so they spend another two weeks at the cabin
> 
> Well, we have one chapter left... it's been a long journey. I would love to know your thoughts on things so far. <3


End file.
